


Let's Misbehave

by dettiot



Category: Arrow (TV 2012)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Historical, F/M, Olicity Fic Bang 2016
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-29
Updated: 2016-10-03
Packaged: 2018-08-11 17:06:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 11
Words: 66,793
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7900840
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dettiot/pseuds/dettiot
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's 1927 and Felicity Smoak is returning to Starling City after having to leave MIT early for financial reasons. Her job working as a switchboard operator pays well but it's pretty boring. And then her new friend Caitlin takes her to Starling City's best speakeasy: Verdant. When Felicity meets its mysterious owner, Oliver Queen, her life will change. So will Oliver's--he's been struggling ever since the death of his friends two years ago. There's bootlegging, mobsters, jazz and romance . . . but will there be a happy ending?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> There’s been a lot of research and work and struggle to produce this fic, but if I’m lucky, y’all won’t notice any of that and think this all came together effortlessly. As this is a historical fic, I wanted to say that the attitudes and personalities of the characters needed to reflect the time period, so there might be the occasional opinion or description that might make a reader uncomfortable or seem out of character.
> 
> Many thanks to acheaptrickandacheesyoneline, for her excellent beta skills. The artwork for this fic was created by quiveringbunny and so wonderfully captures the feeling of the fic. nvwhovian was a great cheerleader along the way. 
> 
> I hope everyone enjoys my contribution to the Olicity Fic Bang.
> 
>  
> 
>   
> 

 

_ May, 1927 _

As the train chugged along through the familiar landscape, Felicity opened her compact and checked her nose for shininess.  Satisfied, she snapped the compact closed and returned it to her clutch.  Then she tugged on her cloche hat, making sure it was settled on her head, before leaning back against the seat and looking out the window.

It was only five more miles to Starling City.  Five more miles before her journey was done.  Five more miles before she was back home.  Sadly, not like she had dreamed of returning home:  with a degree from MIT in her hand.  After two years, despite all the hard work by both Felicity and her mother, her savings had run out.  So now Felicity had to come back to her childhood home and figure out a new dream. 

But Felicity prided herself on being practical.  Yes, it was disappointing.  Yes, she had cried quite a bit when she realized she had to leave school.  But tears and wallowing wouldn’t change anything.  And it wasn’t like MIT was going anywhere.  Her professors had all thought highly of her; they had promised if she found the money, she could resume her studies where she had left off.  She just needed to find a good-paying job, something that would let her earn enough for another year at MIT, and then she could complete her studies and get her degree.

The girls she had known at MIT, they were all smart, of course.  But most of them came from good families and had plenty of money.  They could afford to bob their hair, neck with boys in the backseat of cars, sleep off a hangover and miss class.  Felicity, though, hadn’t the time or money for those things.  Although she had cut off most of her hair, favoring a curly bob that ended around her ears, and shortened her skirts to mid-calf, Felicity was no flapper.  She was a scientist.  

**_Now Entering Starling City, Established 1889, Population 32,299_ **

The battered sign at city limits, surrounded by overgrown trees, made Felicity frown.  When she had left two years ago, that sign had been bright and shiny, the trees well-maintained.  Why wasn’t it like that now?

There wasn’t time to think more on that question, as the train was pulling into the Starling City station.  And it was hard to miss Donna Smoak in the midst of the waiting crowd.

With a small smile, Felicity stepped down to the platform, holding both her small Gladstone bag and her clutch purse in one hand, moving towards her mother.  

“Felicity!” Donna squealed, throwing her arms around her.  For a moment, Felicity enjoyed getting to embrace her mother.  Feeling Donna’s little pats against her back, inhaling the same rosewater scent Donna always wore.  Then she stepped back and Felicity took in her mother.  

_ She hasn’t bobbed her hair, thank goodness _ , was Felicity’s first thought.  While Donna’s dress was a bit shorter and tighter than most mothers would wear, she still had the same long blonde curls under her cloche hat.  

“You look great, Mom,” Felicity said, kissing Donna’s cheek.  

“Shhh, honey!  Ix-nay on the om-may!” Donna whispered, her eyes darting over towards a distinguished-looking man in a suit.    

Well, her mother definitely hadn’t changed in the two years she had been gone.  Felicity did her best to keep her smile in place.  “Thanks for meeting me.  Let me just get my trunk and we can get going.”

“Yay!” Donna said, her smile brightening.  “Oh, it’s so good to have my baby home!”

Looking around, Felicity took in the people crowding the platform, their faces looking drawn and tired mostly.  She noticed the dinginess of the station and how few porters were moving around to assist people with their luggage.  

Then she looked at her mother, at how excited Donna was, and Felicity relaxed.  “It’s good to be home.”  

Snagging an available porter, Felicity handed him her claim check and turned back to her mother.  “I hired the boy from down the street to put a fresh coat of paint on the walls in your room, Felicity,” Donna chattered.  “And there was a great sale at work, so I got you a new set of curtains and a coverlet--your room looks like the bee’s knees!”

Hearing her mother use slang--the same kind of slang her fellow students used to say--grated on Felicity’s nerves, but she did her best to keep smiling.  “You didn’t have to do that, Mom.”  

“Of course I did!” Donna insisted.  Her face grew serious.  “I know how disappointed you must be, having to drop out of school . . . no job, no man . . . my eyes would be red as roses if I was you!”

Felicity closed her eyes, taking a moment.  She knew her mother meant well.  Donna had never held back in expressing her hopes that Felicity would come out of MIT with a husband--and incidentally a degree.  Now that Felicity was coming home with neither, Donna was just as disappointed as Felicity was.  So even though it felt like salt being rubbed in her wounds, Felicity knew Donna was only expressing how worried she was about her.  

“It’s okay,” Felicity said, opening her eyes and looking at her mother.  “I wrote to Caitlin when I decided to come home, and Cait has already put in a good word for me at the telephone company.  As soon as I get settled, I’ll go in for an interview and hopefully, I’ll get a job.”  

“The phone company?”  Donna’s nose wrinkled.  “But you won’t meet any men there!  And it’ll be so dull.”

“The pay is good, and it’ll let me use some of what I learned at MIT,” Felicity said.  

Donna huffed, then her eyes brightened.  “They’re always looking for pretty girls on the perfume counter at my store.  You take off those cheaters,” Donna said, gesturing to Felicity’s horn-rimmed glasses, “and put on some lipstick, and you’ll--”

“Mom!  I don’t want to work at a department store!”

Her voice came out louder than she intended, drawing some looks from the passengers remaining on the platform.  Felicity’s cheeks flushed and she shifted in her low-heeled shoes as she looked at her mother, who had taken a step back.  The hurt and rejection was plain on Donna’s face, making Felicity feel like a heel.

“Mom--” she said, trying to find the words.  

“If you want to work at the phone company, then that’s what you’re going to do,” Donna said, her voice small.  “You know best, Felicity.”  

“Here’s your trunk, miss.  Need a cab?”  

The arrival of the porter just made the tense situation feel more awkward.  Donna gave the porter a tight smile, then looked at Felicity.  “I kept the cab waiting at the curb.  Hopefully he’s still there and didn’t skip out.”  

Nodding, Felicity followed her mother and the porter, wishing she hadn’t lost her temper.  It wasn’t a good start to her return to Starling City.

XXX

Whenever she closed her eyes, Felicity saw flashing lights.  The lights were the indicators on her switchboard, showing calls waiting to be answered.  Like right now.  Tugging with all her strength on the cable from the phone that was calling the switchboard, Felicity slid the cable’s plug into the appropriate jack and flipped the switch, known as a key, that would let her talk to the caller.  

“Number, please?” she asked.  

“Verdant Dance Hall and make it snappy,” a nasal voice said.  

Her smile fixed rigidly in place, Felicity kept her voice pleasant.  “One moment, please,” she told the caller, pulling the cable out and plugging it into the jack for the most popular night spot in Starling City.  With a pull of the key on the switchboard, she waited for someone to answer at Verdant.  When that happened, Felicity moved both keys into the talk position and leaned back in her seat slightly, stretching the muscles along her spine.  And then she answered the next call.  

Working as a telephone operator was a good position for a young woman.  At least she got to sit down, unlike her mother:  on her feet all day long at Bonner & Teller, Starling City’s finest department store.  And it was interesting, learning how the switchboard worked, having to figure out how to fix the problems that occasionally occurred.  It reminded her of the classes on electricity and circuits at MIT, and made her feel like she was keeping her studies fresh in her mind, at least.  

But Felicity couldn’t deny the work was also exhausting in its mind-numbing tedium.  Not to mention having to deal with callers who were sometimes pleasant but more often snappish and impatient.  The pay was pretty good:  seventy-five cents an hour and Saturdays off, although she did have to work every other Sunday.  Yet she wished she could do something she enjoyed more, something that would satisfy the unknown, unnamed feeling she had inside herself. 

Ever since she had come back to Starling City, Felicity had felt like there was something missing in her life.  Her days were the same, starting at seven-thirty when she got out of bed.  After washing, dressing, and eating breakfast, she caught the streetcar to work.  She worked nine to seven, with two fifteen-minute breaks and a half-hour for lunch.  Then she went home, had some dinner with her mother, and listened to the radio or read a library book before bed.  It wasn’t that different from her life at MIT, when her days were filled with classes and her nights with homework.  But . . . but that was different from now, and now her life was boring.  

“Felicity?  It’s time for our break.”  

The hand on her shoulder and the sound of Caitlin’s voice shook Felicity out of her thoughts.  “Oh, right, of course,” she said, taking off her headphones and rising from her station.  “Thanks, Cait.”  

Her friend smiled at her, pulling her towards the door to the alley where the switchboard operators took their breaks.  “I have a question for you--are you busy tomorrow night?”

Shaking her head, Felicity followed Caitlin.  “No . . .”  

“Good!  Then you can come with me and Ronnie to Verdant and help us celebrate our engagement.”  Caitlin smiled brightly as they stepped outside and discovered that for once, it wasn’t raining.

“Oh, Cait . . .” Felicity hesitated.  She wasn’t much for nightclubs and speakeasies.  Not that she was a bluenose or anything--she had no problems with people drinking alcohol and she thought Prohibition would eventually be repealed.  But loud music and dancing, the crazy atmosphere you found at dance halls . . . that wasn’t her kind of scene.  

“Please, Felicity?  You never talk about going out and having fun, and it would mean so much to Ronnie and me if you were there.  And there’s a friend of Ronnie’s I think you would hit it off with.  I know blind dates are tricky, but I promise, Barry’s a good egg.”

Felicity pulled off her glasses and rubbed the bridge of her nose.  “I’m sure he’s nice, but--”

Suddenly, Felicity stopped talking.  Why was she trying to get out of this?  Hadn’t she just been thinking about how boring her life was?  And Caitlin was one of her best friends--how could Felicity skip attending a celebration of her engagement?  

Maybe it was time for her to stop playing it so safe.  What was the point of working and saving every penny, if she would be too exhausted to go back to MIT?  A little bit of fun would make her job more bearable, would reassure Donna that Felicity wasn’t wasting her life, would make Cait happy . . . and it had been so long since she had done anything fun.

“You know . . . why not?” Felicity said, trying to sound casual.  “It sounds like--like the cat’s meow.”  

Cait giggled.  “Wow, slang.  We might just get you into this decade before it ends.”  

Unable to hold back her own giggle, Felicity elbowed Caitlin.  “I use slang!  Just not all the time.  I’m not some jazz baby flapper.”  

“You could be,” Cait said, elbowing Felicity back.  “You’ve got great gams, you’re smart, you’re independent--this is a great time to be a woman.”  

While Caitlin turned to speak with another operator, Felicity leaned back against the brick building, lifting her face to the sun.  It seemed fitting on the day she was taking a chance, the sun was shining.  Like Mother Nature was telling her she was doing the right thing.  

Just like her actual mother would tell her, when Felicity went home that night and gave Donna the news.

XXX

Unable to help herself, Felicity twitched the skirt of her dress, trying not to show off her legs.  But that was hard, with how short the skirt was and how fluttery it was, with the slits that went to mid-thigh.  

As Felicity had expected, her mother had been overjoyed at the news of Felicity going out with her friends.  And when Donna learned Felicity was going to Verdant, she had immediately started chattering about clothes and hair and cosmetics.  And for once, Felicity didn’t mind the chatter.  It actually made her feel excited instead of coming up short as a girl.  

So tonight, she had let her mother give her a bit of a makeover.  She was wearing rouge and bright red lipstick.  Her hair was pinned up to look a bit shorter, with waves flowing around her face.  She was even wearing a bit of her mother’s favorite scent, which gave Felicity a bit of extra confidence.  

And then there was the dress.  One that her mother happened to have in her closet--a dress that fit Felicity perfectly without any alterations needed, which belied Donna’s statement about buying it for herself but the dress didn’t fit her.  But Felicity didn’t mind, because even though the skirt made her feel a bit undressed, the dress was still so pretty.  Made out of a bright blue rayon, the drop waist and floaty skirt made her legs look endless.  Besides, it was just  _ fun  _ to wear.  

Something about the new dress, about feeling pretty, made Felicity feel scatterbrained.  Like she wasn’t her usual self.  She glanced across the back seat to Barry, Ronnie’s friend, and gave him a shy smile.  “How do you and Ronnie know each other?”

“We both work at STAR Labs,” Barry said, tugging a little on his bowtie and then smoothing his hand over his argyle sweater.  “Ronnie works in engineering and I’m in chemistry.”  

“Oh!  How interesting,” Felicity said.  “Are you working on anything exciting right now?”

Barry’s eyes widened.  “You think science is interesting?”

“Yes,” Felicity replied, feeling surprised.  “I . . . I guess Caitlin didn’t tell you I went to MIT for two years.”  

“Wow,” Barry said, sounding impressed.  He looked at Felicity, the expression in his warm brown eyes making her blush a little.  “Brains and beauty, huh?”  

Felicity shifted and ducked her head.  “Tell me what you’re working on.  I’m dying to talk science with someone!”  

He chuckled.  “You’re in luck, because science is easy for me to talk about, even with a girl.  Lately, I’ve been doing some work on synthetic fabrics.”

“Like rayon?” Felicity asked.  

“Sort of--rayon is made from cellulose,” Barry began to explain, only for Felicity, in her excitement, to cut him off.

“Oh!  Since it’s made from a naturally-occurring substance, rayon isn’t fully synthetic?”

Barry stared at her.  “Yeah--that’s right--wow, you’re like a genius.”  He grinned at her.  “This date is off to a swell start.”  

She grinned back, ready to ask him more questions, only for Caitlin to call out, “We’re here!”  

Turning her head, Felicity felt her mouth drop open.  “Oh my . . .” she whispered, taking in the exterior of Verdant.  

Even though the dance hall was located at the edge of the Glades, a poorer section of Starling City, the building looked as fancy as something in the prosperous downtown area.  Giant klieg lights were stationed outside the front doors, spotlighting the beautiful young people walking into the club.  Over the doors, the neon sign spelled out Verdant in bright green Art Deco letters.  And on either side of the entrance were lines of people, waiting to get in, causing a buzz of conversation that could be heard even inside Ronnie’s Model T.  

“Come on!” Caitlin said, opening the back door and pulling Felicity out.  “We don’t have to wait, we can go right inside.  Ronnie will join us once he’s parked the car.”  

Felicity couldn’t say anything, too caught up in looking at everything.  She held on to Caitlin’s arm, hearing Barry let out a soft whistle as the doorman opened the door for them and they stepped inside.  

A large band at the end of the hall was playing a loud, toe-tapping rendition of _ Let’s Misbehave _ .  Circular tables covered in green cloths, flanked by chrome chairs with green seats, were arranged around the edges of the room, leaving plenty of space for the dance floor that was already full of couples.  There was a glittering chandelier over the dance floor, lighting up the center of the dance hall while leaving the corners dimly-lit.  Fashionably-dressed groups filled many of the tables, attended by waitresses dressed in simple white-and-green dresses accentuated on the left shoulder with a shiny pin in the shape of the letter V.  

It was all so overwhelming, Felicity was sure she was staring, her mouth hanging open at everything she was seeing.  It wasn’t just that the room was so opulent and elegant.  But more than the surroundings, it was the feel of the place.  There was an energy, a brash confidence, that Felicity herself didn’t possess.  A feeling that anything could happen here tonight and the world was her oyster, because she was here at Verdant.  

“Isn’t it just the berries?” Caitlin said, nudging Felicity’s side.  

She looked around again, feeling her lips turn up in a wide smile.  “And how!”

“Oliver Queen sure knows how to put on the Ritz,” Barry agreed.  “I guess it makes sense with his name.”  

“Oliver Queen?” Felicity asked in surprise.  “That’s who owns this joint?”

“Sure is,” Caitlin said.  “He came back to Starling City a few months ago, after being gone for years and years, and opened this place up.  I guess you hadn’t heard he was back in town.”  

Shaking her head, Felicity gave Verdant another look, wondering why a big cheese like Oliver Queen would open up a dance hall instead of doing something like working for his family’s company.  But maybe disappearing for a few years, like he had, meant things were strained with his parents.  

Hadn’t there been some kind of accident before he left, too?  Felicity frowned, trying to remember, but then Ronnie appeared behind them.  “This way, everyone,” Ronnie said with a grin, taking Caitlin’s hand and leading them towards a door tucked away in an alcove, guarded by a large Negro man with enormous muscles.  

“Digg,” Ronnie said, nodding to the man.  “Robin Hood.”

Felicity looked at Barry, feeling confused.  He leaned in close to her, whispering in her ear.  “It’s the password to get into the speakeasy.  Is that okay?  We could stay out here and dance, not that I’m much of a hoofer, but if you don’t want to drink--”

“I do,” Felicity said, surprising herself.  Because tonight she wanted to be different.  She wanted to have fun.  And drinking was fun.    

So she pushed aside thoughts of Oliver Queen, her mother, and anything else except the music and her friends and the booze and this amazing night.

XXX

Holding her hand over her eyes like a visor to block the bright sunshine, Felicity walked from the streetcar stop towards the phone company’s building.  Her head was pounding and her throat was scratchy, but missing work was grounds for being fired.  She just had to hope that the aspirin would start working soon and ease her hangover.  

As she drew up beside Cait, who looked as weary as she felt, Felicity vowed, “No more going out on Mondays.  I don’t care if it’s easier to get a table at Verdant.  I feel like I’m dying.”  

“Me, too,” Caitlin moaned.  “Why did you let me keep pouring gin down my throat?”  

“Me?” Felicity asked, whipping her head to look at Cait and then grimacing.  “Ow.  Anytime I said anything, you told me to stop being such a wet blanket--you even blew a raspberry at one point!”

Cait let out a soft giggle.  “I did, didn’t I?”  

“You’re lucky I like you, Snow,” Felicity said with a grin.  “Let’s get through today so we can go home and die.”

“And the java is on me at our first break,” Caitlin promised.  

“You’re on,” Felicity said as they walked into work.  

Ever since that first night at Verdant, Felicity had discovered a whole new side of herself.  A side that didn’t even need alcohol to come out, although a little bit of hooch didn’t hurt.  But her evenings out with Cait and Ronnie, with Barry, with other new friends, they were helping her become a new person.  One who didn’t hold her tongue, one who took pleasure in laughing and dancing and drinking.  A woman who was truly independent, not playacting at being one.

Instead of spending her nights at home reading or listening to the radio, most evenings she went out, visiting any of Starling’s many dance halls or speakeasies.  But her favorite was Verdant.  It had the best music, the nicest bathrooms, and the best tasting liquor.  Plus, she felt safe there.  Not safe enough to go alone, of course--she wouldn’t take that kind of risk.  But when she was inside its walls, she felt like she could be the Felicity she was supposed to be.  And as the weeks went on, a fine spring turning into a beautiful summer, it was starting to become easier to be this new Felicity outside of Verdant.

She didn’t go to a club every night, either.  Sometimes, she and Barry went out driving . . . and spent time in the back seat of the flivver he borrowed from Ronnie.  As Caitlin had said, Barry was a good egg, someone like her who was looking to enjoy life.  So their petting sessions were about having fun, exploring what it felt like to kiss someone, to touch someone.  

After the first time, Felicity had worried she was leading Barry on--not acting like a good girl.  But Cait had reassured her.  “You can’t tell anyone about this, but I think you should know.  Barry’s in love with a girl he grew up with, but she’s a Negro,” Cait had told Felicity in a hushed voice.  “He knows they can’t get married, so he’s just looking to have some fun.”  

Cait’s information made Felicity’s heart go out to Barry.  How awful it must feel, to know who your life’s partner was, yet knowing you couldn’t be together.  It made Felicity determined to be a good friend to Barry, if nothing else.  And Barry was a good friend to her: always willing to dance with her, keeping an eye on her when she was indulging in gin, and never going too far when they were in the back seat.  

And necking was fun.  Her cheeks went pink as she remembered Sunday afternoon, when things had gotten pretty hot and heavy.  Barry had touched her breast through her dress, and she had even worked up the courage to brush her hand against his pants, feeling how that unique part of his anatomy jumped at her touch.  

“Smoak!”  

Felicity jerked out of her thoughts, her head pounding and her face flushing.  “Y-yes, Miss Rochev?”

From the moment Felicity had started work, Miss Rochev, the switchboard supervisor, had made it clear she didn’t like her.  Felicity had tried everything she could to get Miss Rochev to like her--or at least treat her pleasantly--but nothing had worked.  

“Stop daydreaming and get to your place,” Miss Rochev said, the severe bun she wore  emphasizing her almond-shaped eyes and high cheekbones.  

“Yes, Miss Rochev,” Felicity replied, scurrying to her station.  This wasn’t the first time she had been hungover at work, but today’s hangover was the worst one she had experienced.  Hopefully, it would be an easy morning until it was time for her coffee break.  A good cup of coffee and another two aspirin would fix things; she just had to last until eleven o’clock.  

This morning, the switchboard was unusually busy for a Tuesday.  The high society of Starling City were in a tizzy over a party being held at the Queen Mansion this weekend, according to all the gossip.  The latest rumor was Oliver Queen would be making an appearance, which meant all the women invited to the event were suddenly realizing they needed new dresses, new jewels, a new hairstyle, or all of the above.  And that meant a lot of phone calls.  Felicity now had memorized the jack locations for Bonner & Teller, Madame Lafayette’s Dress Shoppe, and Antoine’s Hair Salon, thanks to all the calls she had connected to those three establishments.  And that was just this morning!

But with her pounding head, Felicity knew she was moving a bit slower than normal.  She was having trouble focusing, remembering all the steps she had to make in order to connect a call.  And knowing that Miss Rochev was watching her with an eagle eye didn’t help.  

Since she didn’t want to make a mistake, Felicity took the extra time to do things right.  But then, disaster struck: she had two calls come in at once, and she became flustered as she finished with the first and answered the second caller with a breathless, “Number, please?”

“Well, it’s about time!” the caller announced, in a voice that reminded Felicity of an elocution teacher.  “I have been waiting nearly a minute, young lady, and that is simply unacceptable.  No one keeps Mrs. Elmira T. Grady waiting!”

Elmira Grady--the mayor’s wife!  Felicity winced.  “Yes, ma’am.  I mean, no, ma’am, you shouldn’t have been kept waiting.  How may I connect you?”

“Antoine’s Hair Salon, young lady.  And no shilly-shallying!”  

“No, ma’am,” Felicity promised, quickly connecting the call.  But the line to Antoine’s was busy.  Felicity bit her lip, wondering what she should do.  She tried again, but it was still engaged.  Taking a deep breath, she flipped the key to talk to the mayor’s wife.  “I’m sorry, ma’am, but the line is engaged.  I could arrange a call for you later--”  

“Later?  I cannot wait, young lady.  Perhaps if you took your job seriously, you would be able to do that which the telephone company pays you so handsomely to do: connect telephone calls!  This is simply outrageous--to think this is what Starling City has come to, after so many years of being the Emerald Jewel of the North!  Why, in my day--”

As she listened to Mrs. Grady go on, Felicity felt her face turning red.  Not from embarrassment, though--from anger.  Because how could this woman act like this, when she was most definitely old enough to know better?  It wasn’t Felicity’s fault the line was busy, and she had done her best to make the caller happy with the options available.

“Mrs. Grady?” Felicity interrupted.  “Dry up!”

Aghast noises came through Felicity’s headphones as Mrs. Grady spluttered.  “I never!  How dare you speak to me in that fashion?”

“I dare because you are all wet--I can’t help that everyone in Starling City is calling Antoine’s this morning, and if you don’t understand that, you’re a complete sap!”  

“Smoak!” Miss Rochev roared, snatching the headphones off Felicity’s head, taking some of her hair with it.  Felicity pushed back from her station on her wheeled stool, rising to her feet and watching as Miss Rochev dealt with the mayor’s wife.  As soon as the old bag had been connected with the hair salon, Miss Rochev whirled around to look at Felicity, disdain in her eyes.

Felicity’s head still hurt from her hangover, and now there was a sore spot where her hair had been ripped out.  Her cheeks felt hot and her stomach roiled, but she kept her chin lifted, facing Miss Rochev’s glare.  

“Oh, I have been waiting to do this for a long time,” Miss Rochev said, smirking at Felicity.  That made Felicity even angrier.  She knew what was coming--she was going to get discharged.  After all the indignities she had accepted from Miss Rochev, Felicity wasn’t about to give her this final satisfaction.

“Too bad--I quit!” Felicity announced, tossing her head and turning on her heel.  

As she walked past her coworkers, she saw how most of them tried to stay focused on their switchboards--understandably so, since they had to stay and keep working for Miss Rochev, and nobody wanted to be on her bad side.  But Caitlin gave Felicity a wink, and a few other girls gave her a nod of the head or a small smile.  

And then she was walking out the door into the sunshine, at ten-thirty on a Tuesday morning with her purse in her hand, a free and independent woman.  But . . . it was one thing to feel like that when you had a job, and another thing when you didn’t know how you would make money.  

Pressing her lips together, Felicity kept her head up and started walking.  She didn’t want to go home, and she didn’t have anywhere else she could go, so she might as well take a walk.

XXX

The aching of her feet told Felicity she couldn’t keep walking around Starling City.  While her feet were moving, though, she could keep herself from thinking about the pickle she was in now.  Quitting her job like that meant she had no reference.  Without a reference, how was she going to get a new job?  Without a job, there was no way she could save money for her tuition.

Felicity drew up short as she realized she couldn’t remember the last time she had thought about MIT.  The whole point of coming home and getting a job was to work and save so she could go back to Boston.  But with her whirl-of-gaiety lifestyle, she hadn’t been saving any money.  All her wages went towards liquor and shoes and dresses and cosmetics and magazines.  

How had she let this happen?  If this was the kind of woman she was, Felicity wasn’t sure she liked her all that much, with how easily this new Felicity had forgotten her lifelong dream.    

Or maybe . . . maybe, deep down, she had known leaving MIT meant she wasn’t going back.  

Her lower lip trembled and Felicity took a deep, shuddering breath.  Looking around wildly, she knew she had to get to someplace private, someplace where she could hide for a little bit.  Because crying in the middle of the street seemed pretty sad.  

At least she knew where she was and she knew where she could go.  Tripping down the street, moving as fast as her feet would allow, Felicity hurried to the side entrance of Verdant.  The one for speakeasy-only patrons, for people who wanted to get bent, compared to the door inside the dance hall for patrons who only wanted a drink or two between dances.  

She glanced over her shoulder as she stepped up to the door.  There didn’t look to be any cops around, given that it was the middle of the day.  With a deep breath, she knocked firmly on the door.

A small circular porthole in the door opened, revealing dark skin and a large brown eye.  “Password,” a deep voice said.

“Robin Hood,” Felicity croaked, hoping that the password hadn’t been changed.

There was a pause before the porthole closed and she heard the sound of the locks being turned.  Felicity felt a glimmer of relief as the door was opened, revealing the Negro man she usually saw inside Verdant.  Ronnie had called him Digg, but Felicity had never found out if it was a nickname or his actual name.  

“Good afternoon, miss,” he said, stepping back so she could come in.  

“Thank you,” she said, hearing the tremble in her own voice.  

That made the man give her a second look, then he turned and gestured to someone at the bar.  “Why don’t you have a seat at the bar?  I’ll make sure no one bothers you, miss.”  

If she spoke, she knew she would burst into tears.  So Felicity just nodded, and tried to smile, before she walked over to the bar.  She climbed up on a stool, her shoulders slumping as she rested her arms on the wooden surface.  Unlike in Verdant, which was all shiny and bright, the speakeasy was dark and filled with old-looking furniture: wooden tables and chairs, no tablecloths or flowers like in the dance hall.  The bar, equally solid and masculine, ran the length of the room with leather bar stools positioned along it.  

She didn’t even have to ask before a glass of gin was set down in front of her.  Felicity picked it up and took a sip, then sighed and tossed back half the glass.

“Easy there, baby.”  

The voice was deep, rich, and very male.  Something about it annoyed her--as well as being called ‘baby’.  After this horrible day, the last thing she needed was to be patronized.  To be treated like some weak female.  

“Look, buddy, I’m in a gin mill to drink.  If that’s a surprise to you, you’re not too bright, are . . . you . . .”  

Felicity’s voice trailed off as she finally made eye contact with the man behind the bar.  The man who had given her the glass of gin and the admonition.  Because . . . holy smokes.  She had never seen a man who had _ It _ like this one did--the mysterious quality that made you want to look at them.  His shoulders and chest, covered in a double-breasted vest, were broad and impressive.  His forearms, revealed by his rolled-up shirt sleeves, looked strong and powerful.  

Her eyes lifted to his face and Felicity felt her heart skip a beat.  His jaw was equally strong, covered in stubble that should make him look like a bum, but didn’t.  But most amazing of all was his eyes.  Clear and blue as the summer sky, yet they were shadowed by emotion she couldn’t understand, like the sun hiding behind a cloud.  

He raised his eyebrows at her, giving her a chance to finish talking.  But Felicity was too busy gawping at him to remember what she had been saying.  And then he spoke, in that same deep, rich voice.  

“It’s not a surprise to me that people come here to drink.  Although I do object to this place being called a gin mill.  I thought it was a bit classier than that.”  He casually waved a hand in the air,  gesturing to the surroundings, then shrugged.  “But maybe I was wrong.”  

“No--no, you’re not wrong!” she blurted out quickly.  “Verdant is the best speakeasy in Starling City.  I love coming here.”  

The man picked up a cloth and started polishing some glasses in front of him.  “So you must have had a hard day.”  

“I have,” Felicity said, slumping some more and not caring about her mother’s rules about posture.  “Which is no excuse for slighting Verdant, so I’m sorry about that.  But I lost my job, and I don’t know how I’m going to get another one, and without a job, how am I gonna get back to MIT?”  She lifted her glass and took a small sip of her gin, because she was remembering she barely had enough money to pay for this belt--which meant making it last.  

“I guess I’m just nervous, because I’ve never been here by myself,” Felicity continued, looking at the man.  Surprised she was pouring her heart out like this, because . . . he was just so attractive.  Yet he was also a good listener.  Something about him put her at ease, made her want to tell him things.  

“But you’ve been here a few times before.  I remember you,” he said, glancing up from the glasses.  

She flushed, feeling embarrassed and self-conscious.  Did he remember her because she had made a fool of herself?  And how had she not noticed someone like him watching her?

Her blush must have been obvious, because the man’s lips quirked into the smallest of smiles.  He set down the rag and held his hand out to her.  “I’m Oliver Queen.  Would you like a job?”

“What?”  Felicity stared at him, making no move to take his hand.  “But--but you have no idea why I quit my job!  You have no idea if I’m dependable or anything!  You--you don’t even know my name!”

“But you know mine,” Oliver said, that same amused smile on his face.  “I think I’m a pretty good judge of people.  And my gut is telling me to give you a chance.  So what do you say, Miss No Name?”

Felicity swallowed, unable to look away from him.  Because . . . was she dreaming?  Was he for real?  Could Oliver Queen himself actually be offering her a job in his club?  He didn’t seem to be second-guessing himself, like he was ready to say ‘just kidding’.  No, he was still standing in front of her, his hand held out to her, ready to help her.  

And she was hesitating like some total rube!  Because this could be exactly what she needed.  Not just a new job, but . . . a chance at something new.  

Quickly, Felicity took his hand, giving it a hearty shake.  “Felicity Smoak.  And--and yes, Mr. Queen, I would like a job.”  

End, Chapter 1


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’m so thrilled by the response the first chapter of this fic received! Especially the people who said they don’t normally like historical AUs but decided to give mine a try. Thank you so much!
> 
> Normally, I plan to post on Mondays and Thursdays, but I didn’t want to steal the thunder from any other OFBB participants. So I waited until today to post this second chapter; next week I’ll start with the normal posting schedule. I hope you enjoy this chapter from Oliver’s point of view!

 

A Friday night at Verdant Dance Hall meant all hands on deck.  As the most popular nightspot in Starling City, it took every employee to make sure the place ran smoothly--including its owner.  In most establishments, the owner wouldn’t take much of an active role in running the club.  He would just sit back and wait for the money to come in. 

But Oliver Queen wasn’t like most owners.  

It was only six o’clock, meaning Verdant was fairly quiet.  Waitresses had time to chat with their customers, there were plenty of available tables, and the dance floor was nearly empty.  The band was playing  _ The Best Things in Life Are Free _ almost like a ballad instead of their normal jazzy arrangement.  

The irony of the song made his lips quirk in the smallest of smiles.  That certainly hadn’t been the message in the Queen household when he was growing up.  Anything he wanted, he got--no matter the cost.  His parents spoiled him, and when his sister Thea came along ten years later, they spoiled her, too.  The Queen children were indulged and coddled, brought up with no consequences, and Oliver had certainly showed the result of such an upbringing.  

Two years ago, the twenty-three-year-old Oliver Queen had been the co-captain of Starling City’s generation of young swells.  With money at his disposal, Oliver had done whatever he wanted.  If he wrecked a car, he would have a new one waiting for him the next day.  Considered a sheik, he could get any girl he wanted--and he wanted plenty of girls, even if he officially had an understanding with Laurel Lance.  Whenever the heat from his parents got too hot, he would enroll in a college for a few months, and usually by the time he flunked out, his father was off his back and Oliver could come home to Starling City.

All of that was behind him now, though.  When he had returned to Starling City four months ago, he knew he couldn’t be the same man.  He wouldn’t be the same old Ollie Queen.  He wouldn’t let his parents dictate the life they wanted for him.  

Moira and Robert Queen had wanted Oliver to take his place at the family company, to begin running Queen Consolidated.  Oliver had never wanted that, though.  And especially not now.  He didn’t want to be in some ivory tower, removed from the problems of the world, like his parents.  No, he wanted to be here, a part of the action, working hard.  Hard enough that he could deal with his grief and his loss.   

So he had taken the money he had earned in the last two years and had poured it into Verdant, a dance hall and not-so-secret speakeasy.  A club that was nearly in the Glades, an area that “good” people didn’t go to in Starling City.  Now they did, though--making the area that much better.

And when he stood in his club, looking at what he had created, it was easy to forget who he used to be.  Because what he had built with Verdant . . . when he took in the fine furnishings, the best band in the Northwest, the people crowding the tables and dance floor, he felt a flicker of pride.  This wasn’t the work of some feckless playboy.  This was the work of a man.  A man who was achieving something important after a crushing blow.

“Boss?  Need you to sign for this shipment.”  

The voice of John Diggle was a welcome relief, since he could feel the guilt starting to pull him under.  Turning around, Oliver took the clipboard and glanced at the invoice before signing it.  He handed it back to John and did his best to smile.  “How’s it looking outside?  A good crowd?”  

A dark-skinned Negro, John Diggle was officially the bouncer, but he had quickly become Oliver’s right-hand man.  The man had a quiet dignity and strength about him which comforted Oliver and made it easy to let down some of his walls.  About a half-dozen years Oliver’s senior, Digg had served during the Great War and then returned to his home in Starling City, working in various clubs and speakeasies around town.

With all that experience, Oliver trusted Digg’s instincts.  So when he nodded, Oliver knew it was going to be a busy night.  

“Then let’s get to work,” Oliver said.  “Get Roy to move the delivery into the basement and ask Carly to make sure all the waitresses hustle tonight.  Oh, and would you remind the doormen about the Thea Rule?”  

Digg’s face split with a smile.  “I will, but you know your sister hasn’t found a rule yet she couldn’t break.”  

“I know,” Oliver admitted.  “But even if she wasn’t my sister, I don’t want to serve fifteen-year-olds in my club.  She should be grateful I let her in at all.”  

“Oh, I am,” said a feminine voice Oliver knew too well. 

Blowing out a breath, Oliver looked at Digg.  “Thanks, Digg.”  

It shouldn’t be possible for Digg’s smile to get bigger, but it did.  “Good evening, Miss Queen.  I’ll get right on this, Boss,” he replied, gesturing to the clipboard and heading towards the back of the club.  

Leaving Oliver alone with his baby sister.  

Turning to look at Thea, Oliver eyed her outfit.  She looked like a baby flapper: from her wavy bobbed hair and feather headband to her silver dancing shoes, Thea’s look was more college coed than schoolgirl.  Yet Oliver could see past the slinky dress, to the little girl who used to scamper after him, earning her the nickname he still used.  

“Hi, Speedy,” he said, leaning down to kiss her cheek.  

“Shhhh!” she said, looking around.  “Do you have to keep using that babyish nickname, Ollie?”  

“I just think it’s fitting for a fifteen-year-old,” he said, giving her a long look.  “You’re still a kid, Thea--don’t be in such a hurry to grow up.”  

Rolling her eyes, Thea folded her arms over her chest.  “Easy for you to say--when you were my age, you got away with murder, Ollie.  Meanwhile, I get Mom complaining about how I’m not acting like a proper young lady and I should be preparing for my coming-out.”  She made a face.  “Like I want to wear a big white dress and waltz with Dad.”

“It’s important to her.  If you go along with her on the little things, it makes life easier for you,” Oliver pointed out as he scanned the room, checking to see what doorman was on duty by the speakeasy door.  “How do you think I got to do everything I wanted?”  

“Hmm,” Thea said, giving him a measuring look.  “Thanks for the tip.  So, is now when you warn me to not sneak any booze tonight?”

He spread his hands wide.  “Thea, I let you come in here with all your friends and dance as much as you want.  Can you imagine how it would look if I was serving fifteen-year-olds hooch?”  

Thea pouted.  “It’s not fair.  When you were my age, you drank.”  

“Because back then, Prohibition hadn’t started yet.  You could trust the liquor,” Oliver said.  “I mean it, Thea.  No drinking, except at home.  If you sneak into the speakeasy here, or if I hear you’re going to other juice joints, I’ll have no choice but to tell Mom and Dad.”  

The pout instantly faded from Thea’s face.  At first, he thought she was scared of him tattling to their parents, until he saw the calculating look in her eye.

“So if I go along with you and make your life easier . . . will you do something for me to get Mom off my back?”  

_ Walked right into that one _ , Oliver thought ruefully.  “What is it, Thea?”

“Come to dinner on Monday night?” Thea asked hopefully.  “Please, Ollie?  I swear I won’t touch a drop all weekend if you do this.”  

Oliver opened his mouth to refuse.  Ever since his return, he had wanted as little to do with his parents as possible.  Not with how angry they still were about him not working at QC.

But if this was what it would take to keep Thea safe . . . Oliver had to accept.  After all, it was just dinner.  He could handle his parents for one evening.  For Thea’s sake.  

“Okay,” he said quietly.  He was ready to say more, but Thea threw her arms around him and hugged him tightly.

“Thank you thank you thank you, Ollie!” she cried out before plastering a kiss to his cheek.  Then she giggled and swiped at his cheek.  “Sorry, lipstick.  I’m just so glad you’re coming to dinner.  I’ll see you on Monday.”  

“Okay,” he said, watching his sister scamper away, joining a group of her friends at a corner table.  

Pulling out a handkerchief, Oliver wiped his cheek.  He took one more look around the club, his eyes occasionally pausing on people who caught his attention.  A slick-looking drugstore cowboy type, someone Oliver needed to point out to Digg as someone to watch.  A woman who was getting loud at being denied admittance to the speakeasy.  

As he moved to help the doorman deal with her, Oliver had to slow his steps when two women crossed in front of him.  Their arms were linked, the sound of their laughter rising above the music.  One of the women, a blonde wearing glasses, made him take a second look.  Why, he didn’t know, but . . . there was something about her.  

XXX

_ Tears were running down his face, mixing with perspiration.  He kept inching closer to the flaming wreck, only to back up when the fire came close to burning his skin.   _

_ Just behind him, Sara Lance was sobbing.  “Laurel!  Laurel!” she screamed.  “Ollie, we gotta do something!”   _

_ “Tommy!  Laurel!” he yelled, searching for any sign of movement in the car.  “Tommy!”   _

Jerking awake, Oliver sat up in bed.  His breaths were coming hard and fast, his heart was pounding, and even though it was only four o’clock in the morning, he knew he wouldn’t be going back to sleep.  

It had been a week or so since his last nightmare.  Which was progress: he used to dream of the accident several times a night.  It had been two years, but the details of that night were still as fresh and clear as ever.  

He and Laurel had been fighting--that night, about Laurel’s sister, Sara.  Little Lance, as Sara was known, had followed the three of them to the party.  Laurel wanted them to take Sara home, but Oliver hadn’t wanted to leave so soon.  He reassured Laurel they could keep an eye on Sara.  Sara was crafty, though, and she had gotten enough liquor to get so drunk, she had puked on herself.

Tommy had stepped in and offered to drive Laurel home--and put in a good word for Oliver with her.  That left Oliver dealing with Little Lance, waiting for her to clean up in the bathroom.  When they left the party, they were a few minutes behind Tommy and Laurel.  Sara had been sleepy and Oliver was feeling the liquor, so it was quiet in the car.  Until he spotted a bright light ahead of them--Tommy’s burning car.  

Nobody knew what had happened: although there were two sets of tire tracks, making it appear Tommy’s car had been forced off the road, no one knew why someone would do that.  When the car had gone off the road, Tommy had lost control and hit a tree.  The gas tank ruptured and by the time Oliver and Sara arrived, the car was already engulfed in flames.  

Pushing the covers off, Oliver got out of bed.  His apartment above Verdant was small, but it had what he needed.  He went to the sink and filled a glass, sipping the lukewarm water.  His eyes looked out the window, taking in the dark sky that was just beginning to lighten with the approaching dawn.  He didn’t really see anything, though.

Ever since that night, the guilt had never been far away for Oliver.  If he had just agreed with Laurel and taken Sara home immediately, they wouldn’t have been out so late.  If he and Tommy hadn’t been drinking so much, they would have been in better control of their cars.  If he and Laurel hadn’t fought, it would have been him in the car with her, not Tommy.  

The what-ifs had driven him mad.  Staying in Starling City hadn’t been possible--he had to get away.  He had gone to the train station and taken the first train, which was heading to Los Angeles.  Lost in a fog, Oliver hadn’t even realized he was being followed--not until the three gang members jumped him, stealing his wallet and leaving him black-and-blue.

With no money and no desire to go back to Starling with his tail between his legs, Oliver had grit his teeth and looked for work.  He had ended up signing on with a tramp steamer, working his way across the Pacific Ocean and ending up in China.  It was hard, back-breaking work.  His parents wouldn’t have considered it fitting for a Queen to work like that.  But Oliver found it cathartic.  Every day, he would work to a breaking point, his body slowly losing its softness and becoming hard and muscled.  Each night, he would drop into his berth, falling asleep instantly only to be awakened by his nightmares.  

Slowly, though, he had begun to recover.  What had happened to Laurel and Tommy . . . he would never stop feeling responsible for it.  But he was alive.  He had to carry on.  And the best way to do that, and honor the memory of his friends, was to do something with his life.  Something that made a difference.

What that was, he was still working on discovering.  It had to be more than running a dance hall, he knew.  Even if the club was in one of the poorer parts of Starling City, he could be doing more.  Especially when he saw what had happened to his hometown in his time away.  

Over the last two years, mobsters had started exerting their influence more and more in Starling City.  Crime was growing more rampant, city services were slowing to a near-standstill, and people were dying from bad alcohol, all thanks to the mob.  

If Laurel could see what had happened, the opium joints and illegal casinos and dangerous gin mills all over the Glades . . . she was a cop’s daughter with a high-minded sense of fairness.  She would have been out in the streets, protesting for change.  Tommy had always been more sympathetic to the working man than Oliver was.  He would have been doing something, too.  Donating money, following in his mother’s footsteps.  

Neither of his friends were here now.  If Oliver could make this city more like it used to be, it would be a worthy memorial to them.  But he wanted to do it in his own way--not how his parents would do it, with a fancy benefit that didn’t really do anything.

Sighing, he ran his hands through his hair.  Tonight he would be having dinner with his parents and Thea.  Even though he was glad for the chance to see Thea, and had to admit he missed his mother, he already knew tonight was going to be trying.

When he had worked on the steamer, he had become friendly with a man named Yao Fei.  He would say that belief predicted being.  That anticipating tonight going badly meant it would go badly.  

Maybe Yao Fei was right.  But Oliver couldn’t help thinking his knowledge of the past meant more than his belief in this situation.  

Pulling his shirt over his head, Oliver dropped to the floor and began a series of push-ups, getting his muscles warm.  Being awake meant he could get his calisthenics out of the way, before he started working on paperwork.

He had a full day ahead of him.  His work would help keep him from worrying about tonight.

XXX

As he drove up to his family’s home, Oliver ran a finger along his collar, hating the stiffness of it.  Then he tugged at his tie a little, before he returned his hand to the steering wheel with a sigh.  

When he had returned to Starling City, he had bought an Indian Chief motorcycle, preferring to be out in the open air instead of enclosed in a car.  Zipping through the streets of the city, the wind in his hair, was one of his few pleasures.  Dressed in his normal clothes of straight trousers, a shirt and a vest, he could go for a ride whenever he liked.  

But such sloppy attire, and showing up utterly disheveled, would never be permitted by his mother.  So Oliver had bought a new suit and borrowed Digg’s car, so he would be presentable when he arrived at Queen Manor.

What a pompous name, he thought to himself.  Like they were lords and ladies, not people that were just luckier than most others.   

Shaking his head, Oliver pushed aside such thoughts.  Between the suit and the car, he already felt on edge before he had even walked in the door--he couldn’t let his true thoughts be so close to the surface, or he would end up saying the wrong thing.  Knowing his mother, she had probably told his father to be on his best behavior, to not wreck their dinner.  Once they saw his new suit, they would know he was trying.  Maybe his parents would meet him halfway.

And there were people he was looking forward to seeing tonight.  Not just his sister.

A smile came naturally to his face when Raisa opened the door for him.  “Mr. Oliver!” she said, her Russian accent slightly heavier than usual.

“Hello, Raisa,” he said, bending to lightly kiss her cheek.  “It's good to see you.”

The longtime Queen cook and housekeeper smiled shyly at him.  “I thought it was odd, your mother requesting all your favorite dishes tonight.  I am happy to see you, looking so well, Mr. Oliver.”

Oliver saw how the woman's eyes ran over his face, how they became worried and sad as she got a good look at him, and he rushed to reassure her.  “I've been dreaming of your pot roast.  It's just what I need, Raisa.”

She smiled at him, looking like she wanted to say more, but Oliver caught signs of movement over her shoulder.

“Ollie,” Thea said, sounding relieved and happy.  Raisa stepped back and vanished as his sister came forward and hugged him.  “Nice threads,” she told him with a smirk.

“Yes, Oliver, your suit is very flattering,” Moira Queen said, gliding out of the parlor.

“Thank you, Mother,” Oliver said, closing the small distance between them to lightly kiss her cheek.

Elegant, refined, composed: that was Moira Queen.  Her blonde hair, a few shades lighter than Oliver's own, was styled in a chic twist.  No bobbed hair or short skirts for her, although she had deigned to raise her hemline to mid-calf.  Her dinner dress was in black silk, a jeweled pin on her breast providing some sparkle.  

She ran her eyes over him, her lips oh-so-slightly pursed, before she smiled.  “We're so happy to have you here tonight, Oliver.  When Thea told me the news on Saturday, I admit I wondered if it was some joke she was playing on me.  Especially when she said she would make her bow at the Starling Debutante Ball.”

“No joke, Mother.  Thea reminded me it had been a while since I had enjoyed dinner with the family,” Oliver said, looking at Thea and smiling a little.  She had taken his advice about going along with their mother, which was gratifying--and unusual, because Thea Queen didn't do what people told her to do.

Thea shrugged her shoulders.  “Someone has to be the perfect child around here.”

Moira laughed pleasantly.  “Both of my children are perfect.  Oliver, you have just enough time for a drink with your father before dinner.  I'm sure he'd like a moment with you.”

Knowing an order when he heard one, even if it had been delivered as a request, Oliver nodded.  “Of course.”  He turned towards his father's study at the other end of the hallway.

His mother and sister walked to the dining room and Oliver paused to watch them.  Using them as a way to delay facing his father.  But there was only so long he could wait, so with a deep breath, he lifted his fist and knocked on the door.

“Come in.”

Robert Queen was already rising to his feet when Oliver opened the door.  “Son.  It's good to see you.  Scotch?”

“Yes, please.  And it's good to see you, too, Dad,” Oliver replied, looking around the study.

“Nothing has changed in here,” he commented, taking in the leather couches, vast mahogany desk, and bookshelves filled with important-looking books.

His father looked at him for a moment from his position at the bar cart.  “Why should anything have changed?”

_ The difference between them in a nutshell _ , Oliver thought ruefully.  The Great War, the changes in the world--none of those upheavals seemed to be reason enough, in his father’s mind, to do anything differently.  Maybe it was because he never really left this room.  Oh, he went to the Queen Consolidated building in Starling City's downtown, visited the houses of his friends, went to his golf club . . . but Robert Queen never went anywhere that didn't confirm who he was and what his place in the world was.

“You've made your mother very happy, coming tonight,” his father said, handing him a cut-glass tumbler of Scotch.  Robert lifted his glass and made his normal toast.  “To the Queens.” 

A toast that grated on Oliver, but he merely tapped his glass against his father's before taking a small sip to savor the rich, smoky flavor.

“You don't get liquor like this at that club you're running, do you?” Robert asked with a smile, taking a seat on one of the couches.

Oliver shrugged his shoulders.  “There's not a lot of demand for Scotch among my customers.  But I can get it if anyone wants it.”

His father let out a chiding snort.  “No, the dregs you serve probably want bathtub gin.”

“I serve the dregs of Starling City's finest families,” Oliver said, his frustration momentarily boiling over.  He looked down into his glass, slowly swirling the brown liquid as he collected himself.  “Verdant turned a profit by the end of its second week.  And it's only gotten more successful, as the word got out.”

“And what word is that?” Robert asked, lowering his glass a little.

Looking his father in the eye, Oliver said, “I give people a good time.  I hired the best band in Seattle and brought them here, I built a luxurious facility and I employ good people to work in it.  And I sell the best booze on the West Coast.”

“Is that such a claim to fame?”

“Considering the poison getting sold in other speakeasies in town?  Yes, it is,” Oliver said, refusing to be cowed by the disdain in his father’s voice.  “I saw what it looks like when someone gets bad hooch, Dad.  It's not pretty.  I wouldn't wish a death like that on anyone.”

For a split-second, he was back in that Hong Kong slophouse, watching Slade sweat and swear and shake, in the final throes of his agony.  Then he shook his head and lifted his glass.  “No one in my club will go out like that,” he told Robert before throwing back the last of his Scotch.

Setting his glass down on the table beside him, Oliver rose to his feet.  “It must be nearly time for dinner.  I'm looking forward to Raisa’s pot roast.”

His father met his gaze with a blank expression on his face.  “Yes, no need to keep the food waiting,” Robert finally said, standing up as well.

The two men walked silently to the dining room.  Oliver noticed how they both walked at the same place, their shined shoes hitting the polished floor at the same moment.  Another irony: for years, his father had been trying to get Oliver to fall in line with him.  Yet he kept refusing--and would  always refuse.

It had been hard-won knowledge, but Oliver believed the world was better now, even with its new problems.  Change was better than stability.  Not when stability meant a world that created Ollie Queen.

Moira smiled, her face pleased, as her husband and her son entered the dining room.  “There you are.  Isn't this wonderful:  the Queen family reunited?”

“It's good to be here,” Oliver said, finding he did mean it, in a way.  Beyond the comfort of seeing his mother and his sister, there was the knowledge this was just a visit.  He wasn't going to get sucked back into all of this, not when he wanted to fulfill his promise to Tommy and Laurel.

“Now, Oliver, I know you're here as a favor to Thea, but that has emboldened me to ask one of you,” Moira said as the maid finished serving the soup and withdrew from the room.

Somehow, he managed to hold back the cutting remark of Moira being welcome to try.  He simply looked at her, waiting for her to speak.  

“We are throwing a function on Saturday.  A special one, to welcome Malcolm Merlyn back from his trip to the Continent, and I thought you would like to be there,” Moira said, delicately swirling her spoon through her soup.

Malcolm Merlyn.  Tommy's father.  His father's best friend.  The man who had left for Europe before his son had even been buried.

“I don't think so, Mother,” Oliver said, hearing the anger in his voice but unable to hold back.

Moira lowered her spoon.  “Oliver, Malcolm was devastated by the loss of Tommy.  Just like you.  Surely you can understand why he left--you did, too, after all.”

Underneath the polish, underneath the desire for Oliver to attend this party, even underneath her legitimate wish for Oliver and Malcolm to make amends, there was the judgment.  His mother was angry at him: for leaving, for coming back different, for not wanting to be “a Queen.”  And even though Oliver loved his mother, he couldn't be what she wanted him to be.  What both his parents wanted him to be:  just like them.

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Thea bite her lower lip, looking nervous.  Oliver pasted on his old, charming smile.  “I'm sure Malcolm won't even miss me with the party you'll throw for him, Mom.  Everyone in Starling that matters is bound to be there.”

With her usual elegance, Moira accepted his refusal, although Oliver didn't miss the looks exchanged between his parents.  And just like that, Oliver knew this dinner was just another one of their attempts to turn him into the heir they wanted, instead of accepting him as the man he was.

XXX

Throughout dinner, the tension only grew, until his father finally laid down the law with Oliver after dinner, after Thea left the room.

“It's very simple, son.  We want you to give up this club of yours and learn how to run a real business.  Come work for Queen Consolidated.  Over the next five years, I'll gradually hand the company over to you so I can enjoy my golden years.”

“Think of Thea,” his mother urged him.  “Think of the example you're setting her.  She's starting to run wild.  Making a name for herself in all the wrong ways.  Don't you want your sister to make a good marriage and assume her place in society?”

“I want Thea to be happy,” Oliver replied immediately.  “Just like I want to be happy.  And running QC won't make me happy.”

His father's face was starting to turn red as he clearly lost his temper.  “That company was founded by your grandfather.  It's given you everything you have, and you would throw it back in our faces?  All for some foolish belief in ‘being happy’?”

Robert’s mockery was the last straw.  Oliver had wanted to try and have some kind of relationship with his parents, if they were willing to meet him halfway.  But that didn’t seem to be possible--so the only choice was to be who he wanted to be.  

“Yes!” Oliver roared, coming to his feet so fast, his chair tipped over and fell to the floor with a crash.  He had bumped into the table as he stood, knocking over a vase of flowers.  Moira jumped and Robert glared at Oliver.

“You only want to destroy everything!”

Without another word, Oliver turned on his heel and walked out.  He could hear his father shouting, his mother attempting to soothe him, and the scurrying of the servants to clean up the mess.  

_ His parents probably wished they had a servant who could clean him up, too _ , he thought darkly as he climbed into Digg's car and drove as fast as he dared back to Verdant.  After handing the keys over to Digg, Oliver had stripped off his suit--a childish part of him had wanted to leave it on the floor, but he had made himself hang it up--before dressing in work pants and an undershirt.  Then he pulled on his thick leather jacket and stomped down the stairs from his apartment, going straight to his bike.

The streets were empty, allowing him to really open up the throttle.  The speed helped him concentrate on anything other than how much of a disaster tonight had been.  He leaned over the handlebars, the wind smacking him in the face and drying out his eyes.  After a few minutes, he slowed long enough to pull on a pair of goggles, then resumed his breakneck pace.  

Oliver drove out of Starling City, leaving behind the lights of the city for narrow roads cut through fields, empty of livestock and with crops only at half their maturity.  He drove for hours, calling upon his knowledge of the area around Starling City to keep him from getting lost.  But things had changed in the two years he had been gone, and finally he had to stop and use the flashlight and AAA map stashed in a saddlebag to get him back to town.

That made his mood grow darker.  Made him wonder if his father was right.  If he did destroy everything--if he was just a waste, a blot on the Queen family line.  

Tightening his grip on the handlebars, Oliver drove faster.  No.  His father was wrong.  He had built something with Verdant, and it was only the beginning.  Tommy and Laurel were depending on him.  

Dawn was beginning to brighten the eastern horizon, but the sky ahead of him was dark and the last stars could still be seen as Oliver returned to town.  But the moment he drove past the shabby-looking sign welcoming him to Starling City, he heard a car behind him.  And then . . . sirens.  

With a sigh, he drew his motorcycle to the side of the road, pushing down the kickstand and stretching out his legs.  He looked over his shoulder, squinting a little from the headlights, before his blood went cold.  Because it wasn’t just any officer of the law approaching him.

It was Detective Quentin Lance.  

“Well, well, well,” Lance said as he drew near, lifting his flashlight to shine it right in Oliver’s face, before lowering it slightly.  “Oliver Queen, back in town.”  

Swallowing, Oliver nodded to him.  “Detective.”  

“To think, the night I decide to help a buddy out and do a patrol shift, I find you,” Lance replied, ignoring Oliver’s greeting.  “Speeding, reckless endangerment . . . probably drunk, which means not just operating a motor vehicle while impaired, you’re breaking federal law, too.”  He paused, a mocking smile on his face.  “That is your MO, after all.  Get drunk, drive, and kill people.  Guess I got lucky and I stopped you before you got to the last one.”

“I’m not drunk, Detective,” Oliver said, the insults from Laurel’s father making him forget his desire to be conciliatory.  “I’m still sorry about Laurel and the damage to your family.  But arresting me for violating Prohibition won’t change what happened.”  

The detective scoffed.  “If I wanted to collar you on a Prohibition charge, I’d just have to show up at that club of yours any night of the week.  Maybe you think you could splash some money around and I’d look the other way.  But I won’t be bribed, Queen.  If the mayor and the chief decide to crack down on the speakeasies in town, I know where I’m goin’ first.”  

“If the law actually cared about enforcing Prohibition, they’d go after the places serving rotgut that makes people blind,” Oliver retorted.  “Just give me the damn ticket and I’ll be on my way, Detective.”  

The anger and disgust, clear in Lance’s expression, deepened into something that made his face stark and ugly.  With jerky movements, Lance scribbled something on his pad before ripping it off and handing it to him.  Without another word, the detective turned on his heel and went back to his car.  

Oliver knew he shouldn’t look at the citation right now.  He sensed there was more than just a statement of his crimes and required fines.  But he had to look.  As Lance drove past without another look, Oliver used the car’s headlights to read the ticket.  

Felt his heart clench in his chest as he saw the only word written on the ticket.   _ KILLER _ .

Crumpling up the paper reflexively, he tossed it aside and started driving again.  His thoughts and feelings were shoved behind a brick wall in his mind, a wall built high and thick.  It wouldn’t hold them back forever, but it was enough to let him get back to Verdant and begin work.  

Oliver didn’t sleep.  He didn’t eat.  He didn’t drink.  He simply worked.  Going over paperwork with a single-minded focus.  Moving tables and chairs around in the dance hall.  Doing his own inventory of the liquor in the basement, shifting crates and pulling out bottles to inspect them.  

When Digg came in at noon, he took one look at Oliver and opened his mouth.  But Oliver had just given his employee and friend a look, and Digg had sighed.  Then, proving what a good man he was, Digg simply went about his own work, leaving Oliver to work things out in his own way.  

By mid-afternoon, he finally gained enough distance from Lance’s actions, he could start thinking.  But that didn’t mean he stopped working.  A few days a week, he worked the bar in the speakeasy during the quiet afternoon hours.  So after a sandwich that Digg forced him to eat and a change of clothes, Oliver took up his spot behind the wooden bar. 

Polishing glasses, rubbing down the bar, dusting the bottles . . . it was soothing, in a way.  An attempt to block out his father and Detective Lance’s words.  Destroyer.  Killer.   

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw a woman sit down at the far end of the bar.  Oliver picked up a bottle of gin, pouring a glass while wondering why she looked familiar.  It took a moment, but then he placed her: the little spark of sunshine he had seen in the dance hall more and more frequently in the last few weeks.  

But there wasn’t much sunshine about her today.  In fact, she looked utterly defeated.  

All he could think was why?  

He set the glass of gin down in front of her before picking up a bar towel and polishing the glasses he had already cleaned.  Because it let him stay close to her.  

The girl hadn’t planned on coming here, he thought.  Not dressed in that tan and blue plaid two-piece dress, her hair a bit lank and her face bare of cosmetics.  It was very different from how she had looked the last time he had seen her:  a few nights before, in a sleeveless red dress that had matched her lips.  He remembered how the skirt had flared out as she had danced, showing off her very attractive legs.    

There were dozens of beautiful girls and women who stepped into Verdant each night.  None of them had made a real impression on him . . . except this woman.  Not because she was prettier than anyone else, but because she seemed different to him.  Full of life, looking at the world with bright eyes and a heart that wasn’t jaded.  

Even before what had happened two years ago, he had never been like that.  It made him wonder about her.  How she kept her cheerfulness, what had happened to her to knock her down at the moment . . . if he could help her.  

As he watched, she picked up her glass and sipped the gin.  Then she made a face and drank half the glass in one fell swoop.  

“Easy there, baby,” Oliver said, surprising himself.  Partly because he had said something, and partly because . . . baby? 

“Look, buddy, I’m in a gin mill to drink,” she said, putting down her glass before she turned to look at him.  “If that’s a surprise to you, you’re not too bright, are . . . you . . .”  

Her voice trailed off for some reason, her eyes behind her glasses going wide.  He didn’t know why she was looking at him like that.  But that was okay, since Oliver felt completely floored by the power of this woman’s gaze.  

And that desire to help her suddenly got stronger.

End, Chapter 2

  
  
  
  



	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Time to find out what Felicity is doing at Verdant! If you want to get in the mood while reading, check out the [Youtube playlist](https://www.youtube.com/playlist?list=PLOuUy5QMOVA6QBd3atL-5QL2qX9_avnfu) of period songs, some of which are mentioned in this fic!

 

By the time she walked through the door of the apartment she shared with her mother, Felicity was starting to feel overwhelmed.  Setting aside the brown-paper parcel with her uniforms--three of them, handed right over to her without having to pay a deposit or anything!--she dropped down into a chair, working to get her shoes off.  

Her mother would be home any moment, which meant Felicity wanted to come up with an explanation for her rash actions.  Not that her mother would be upset with her--if anything, Donna was bound to think working at Verdant would be a lot better than working at the phone company.  It wasn’t like her to just quit a job, though--not to mention just taking a job that was offered to her without considering it, calmly and logically.

Yet that was exactly what she had done.  Just walked out of a good-paying job without any thought to her future.  Without any thought to MIT.  Just because she had lucked into another job almost immediately didn't change the facts.

Who was she becoming?  Was this new Felicity someone she wanted to be?  A girl who went to nightclubs and parties?  A girl who wasn't so different from all the girls she knew at college, the ones who ran around having fun and never considered the consequences.  Like how her mother had grown up, according to the stories that Donna had told her.

Felicity worried her bottom lip.  Was that what it all came down to?  After growing up determined to leave Starling City, to do something big and important with her life, to be a professional woman, she had turned out to be no different from any other coed.  Flighty and only focused on fun, instead of working to make a real impact on society and culture.  

The sound of the front door opening made Felicity look up to the clock, her eyes widening.  Her mother was home early.

Donna walked slowly into the living room, her shoulders slightly slumped and her steps slow.  The moment she saw, Felicity, though, her whole attitude changed.

“Felicity?  What are you doing home?  I thought you were working until seven.  You're not sick, are you?”  Donna rested her hand against Felicity's forehead, the concern clear in her voice and expression.

A wave of shame washed over Felicity.  What a horrible little snob she had been, thinking such cruel things about the girls she had known at MIT, let alone about her mother.  Maybe her mother wasn't very serious, but Donna Smoak was as tough as nails.  She had to be, to support herself and a daughter after her husband had vanished into thin air.  Through sheer determination, she had gotten a job at Bonner and Teller's and had worked her way up, scrimping and saving so Felicity could have not just what she needed, but what she wanted, too.

Her mother loved her, even if she didn't understand Felicity.  Felicity knew that in her bones.  What kind of daughter was she to not appreciate that?  To wish her mother was something different, or feel embarrassed if she, Felicity, didn't turn out that differently from Donna?

Taking a deep breath, Felicity did her best to smile at her mother.  “I'm not sick.  I--I quit my job.”

Donna's eyes went as big as silver dollars, her mouth falling open.  “What?” 

Rising to her feet, Felicity took Donna's hand.  “Let me put some coffee on and I'll explain it all.”

“I just don't understand,” Donna said, following Felicity's lead and walking to the kitchen with her.  “I mean, working at the phone company isn't so great, but I knew you wanted to save for school . . .”

“I did--I do,” Felicity replied, measuring the coffee grounds and setting the percolator on the gas ring.  She turned around and leaned against the counter, looking at Donna.  “Mom, have I seemed different since I came home?”

Donna pursed her lips, looking lost in thought.  “Maybe a little?  I never expected you to go out as much as you do, but I was happy about it!  Happy you had friends to have fun with--you were always such a serious little girl, honey, and I wanted you to enjoy life.”

“I guess I'm realizing that, too.  That I can't always be looking to the future and never enjoying the present,” Felicity pondered.  She smiled a little at Donna.  “That makes you smarter than me.”

“Now you're talking nonsense,” Donna protested, rising to her feet.  “My baby girl is the smartest person I know.”

“I don't feel so smart lately.”  Blowing out a breath, Felicity changed the subject.  “You remember what I told you about my supervisor, Miss Rochev?”

Taking Donna's nod as a sign to continue, Felicity went on.  “Nothing I did ever seemed good enough for her.  And today . . . I was a little bit . . . hungover.”

Her mother dropped a cup into a saucer with a loud clink.  “Felicity!  Have I taught you nothing?  Did you drink a glass of water before bed last night?”

It was something Felicity had grown up hearing: drink water before getting into bed.  Felicity had never understood the rule, but she had gone along with it until she had left for MIT, when she had fallen out of the habit.

“ _ That _ was why you always told me that?” Felicity asked, gaping at her mother.

“It's not just to prevent hangovers.  A glass of water before bed helps your digestion, and you had such a nervous tummy when you were a little girl,” Donna explained.

Felicity shook her head.  Her mother really was so much wiser than she had ever realized.

“What happened with Miss Rochev?” Donna prompted her, opening the cookie jar and removing two oatmeal-raisin cookies.

“I might have told the mayor's wife to dry up, because it's not my fault everyone in town is calling Antoine’s to get ready for that party at the Queen Mansion,” Felicity said, watching her mother for her reaction.

She didn't disappoint.  Donna looked shocked, but then she giggled.  “I've waited on the mayor's wife at B&T.  You don't know how many times I've wanted to tell her that!”  She hugged Felicity tightly.  “No one gets to be mean to my baby girl.”

Without any hesitation, Felicity hugged her mother back.  “Thanks, Mom.”  She leaned against her as she continued the story.  “Miss Rochev heard it all, so rather than being fired, I quit and stormed out of there.”

“Good for you!” Donna said, stepping away to check on the percolator.

“Really?”

“Really,” Donna replied firmly, pouring the coffee.  “Always leave on your own terms, even if you've been backed into a corner.  Now, come have some coffee and we'll figure out where you can look for a job.”

Felicity sat down at the table, feeling her nerves return.  But now, it wasn't because she was upset about becoming like her mother.  But what if her mother was disappointed in her for taking a job at Verdant?

“About that,” Felicity said, adjusting her glasses.  “I don't need to look for a job.  Because I already found one.”

Donna froze, her coffee cup halfway to her lips.

“I'm going to be a waitress at Verdant,” Felicity blurted out.  “I was walking all day since I left the phone company, and I went to the club so I wouldn't be crying on the street, and I began taking to the bartender, telling him about my day, and it turns out it was Oliver Queen and he offered me a job and I took it.”

“Oh my Lord,” Donna said, setting down her cup with a loud clink, sloshing coffee into the saucer.  “What a lucky strike!”

“You think so?” Felicity asked hesitantly.  “You don't think I'm being foolish?”

Donna waved a hand in the air, brushing aside Felicity's worries.  “Not at all!  It takes a smart girl--a smart  _ woman _ \--to find a new job that quickly.  And if it's what you want to do, you should do it.  And then there's the best part.”

Felicity smiled.  “If you mean the money, I’ll earn more there in two nights than I would in a week at the phone company.”

“No, baby girl!” Donna said with a laugh.  “Oliver Queen is your boss!  He's bound to fall in love with you and marry you and dress you in silk and satin!”

“Mom,” Felicity said, laughing when before today, she would have probably gritted her teeth.  But she could see what her mother said for what it was: unflagging belief in her daughter.  Donna thought Felicity could do anything, have anyone.  It certainly was a confidence boost, even if there was no way Oliver Queen would ever notice her.

She told her mother that, only for Donna to smile at her over the rim of her coffee cup.  “We'll see, Felicity.  Tell me all about Verdant!”

XXX

With a little shimmy of her hips to move past the crowd on the dance floor--and because the band's rendition of  _ I’m Looking Over a Four-Leaf Clover _ kept her toes tapping--Felicity carried a tray of glasses towards one of her tables.  It was a Thursday night at Verdant, she had been working here for almost a month, and it had been one of the best months of her life.

There were some flaws, of course.  She rarely got to spend much time with her mother, since their schedules were so different, and Felicity was finding that she missed their talks.  She had already taken in all her dresses once, because she was moving so much that the weight had just been melting off her.  And it had been ages since she had gotten to see her friends.

At least tonight, she was getting to address one of those problems.

“Here we go!” Felicity said with a wide smile, setting drinks down in front of Caitlin, Robbie and Barry.  “Gin and tonic for the boys and a gin fizz for the lady.  On me, and since it's my break, I got permission to sit with you while you drink them.”

“But nothing for yourself?” Barry asked, pausing with the glass halfway to his lips.

Felicity shook her head.  “That's one of the strictest rules: no drinking on the job.  Mr. Queen himself fired a waitress he found sipping from a flask during her shift.”

“Are we ever going to get to meet this Mr. Queen?  I'd like to shake his hand for this great club,” Ronnie said, lifting his glass and taking a swallow.

“Yeah, Felicity--I thought after how you got hired, he'd at least check up on you,” Caitlin said, swirling the contents of her glass.

“Oh, no.  I mean, he's the owner, I'm just a waitress,” Felicity protested.  “Don't tell me you've been getting ideas like my mother, Cait.  She's convinced Mr. Queen and I are straight out of the nickelodeon.  Such hooey, and old-fashioned to boot.”

Her best friend let out an inelegant snort that wasn't like her.  “Oh, please, he sounded like a knight in shining armor with the way you talk about it.”

“Well . . . maybe he was, a little,” Felicity acknowledged.  “But it's not like I talk about him all the time.”

Barry grinned at her.  “Actually, Felicity . . . you kinda do.”

Her mouth fell open.  “Baloney!  I do not!”

“You do,” Caitlin said, while Ronnie nodded in agreement.

She let out a groan.  “And I bought you those drinks.”

Caitlin smiled and saluted Felicity, taking a sip before growing serious.  “We're just curious.  I mean, everyone in Starling City wonders about Oliver Queen.  It was like that even before he came back--remember how the  _ Tattler  _ had that column all about him and his friends?”

“I do--I would read about those dewdroppers and be jealous, since I was slaving away all day long,” Ronnie said.

“I remember,” Felicity hedged.  Then she blew out a breath to focus on answering the real question.  “I suppose I'm no different from everyone else in that.  But really, I barely know Mr. Queen.”

Thankfully, Barry stepped in and directed the conversation elsewhere, taking Felicity off the hot seat.  Which was good, because it gave her some time to consider if she had been protesting too much.

It really was true, she decided.  After that first day, when he had offered her a job, they truly hadn't had any contact.  Well, much contact.  Even in a club as large and fancy as Verdant, with an owner who was on-site as much as Mr. Queen was, it was natural in the course of a month, she would occasionally interact with him.  Not that it was anything to write home about.  Just pleasantries, small talk.  It wasn't like either of them . . . lingered.  Even if he was the most handsome man she had ever seen.

Felicity shifted a little as she recalled what had happened just that afternoon.  She had been walking through the hallway from the staff entrance to the changing room, juggling her clutch and her hat and a newspaper, and she had bumped into Mr. Queen.  The paper had fluttered to the ground and they had both stooped down to pick up the pages.

“ _ The New York Times _ ?  That's heavy reading,” Mr. Queen had commented.

“For a girl or for a flapper?” she had asked, possessed of the sudden urge to see what he thought about education for women and the bold current attitude of the American female.

“For anyone.  I dropped out of four schools, so education never mattered much to me.  But I admire people who care enough to learn,” he said, handing the rest of the newspaper to her.  There was a quiet sincerity to his voice, the same as when he had offered her a job, which made Felicity feel like he meant what he said.

Mr. Queen rose to his feet and offered her his hand.  She took it, slowly standing up and feeling loathe to let go.  Especially with how it seemed his fingers momentarily tightened around hers . . .

No, that was ridiculous.  Her friends’ curiosity was playing on the silly thoughts in her mind and making her think things that just weren't true.

All at once, Felicity became aware of three things.  A hand landed lightly on her shoulder.  Her friends went silent, their eyes widening slightly.  And a soft voice spoke right in her ear.

“Felicity, might I have a word?”

“Mr. Q-Queen!” she stammered, scrambling to her feet.  “I'm sorry, I was on my break and Carly said it was all right for me to sit with my friends--was that wrong?  Not that I want to get Carly in trouble!  I'm sure it was just an honest mistake if I shouldn't have been sitting here.”

Mr. Queen looked slightly perplexed.  Like he wasn't quite sure what to make of her.  Then he gave a little shake of his head and said, “No, you did nothing wrong.  It's fine if you were sitting with your friends.  But I would like to have a moment with you in private.”

Felicity swallowed, not sure what was going on.  Was he just trying to not embarrass her in front of her friends, by firing her in private?  Why else would he want to talk with her?

A nudge against her hip made her realize she had been standing there thinking, without giving Mr. Queen an answer.  Giving Barry a quick, grateful smile for snapping her out of her daze, Felicity turned to her boss.  “Of course, Mr. Queen.”

With a nod, Mr. Queen turned and started moving through the crowd.  Felicity followed him, realizing almost instantly they weren't headed for his office.  No, they were going to the basement.

Her nerves fluttered as she tried to understand what was going on.  It wasn't that she was scared, not really.  Not of Mr. Queen.  He had been nothing but kind and polite to her.  Everyone who worked at Verdant said the same thing: Mr. Queen was a good boss.

That didn’t explain why he wanted to have this talk in the basement, though.  

Before now, she had never been to the underground level of Verdant, where all the supplies were kept.  Waitresses generally didn't need to spend any time downstairs, since there were always a few young men around to fetch more glasses or clean tablecloths when they were needed.  As such, the basement was off-limits and locked, and only Mr. Queen, Digg and Carly had keys.

Walking down the stairs, Felicity got an impression of a great amount of space, even with the dim lighting.  There was a bit of dampness in the air, but overall, it wasn't unpleasant.  Near the base of the staircase were two doors that were standing open.  Through one, Felicity could see stacked chairs, extra tables and a few music stands.  The other room had table linens and glasses.

To her surprise, there was no sign of any liquor.

She looked at Mr. Queen and her surprise must have showed on her face, because he gave her a sudden, heart-breaking smile--one that made her knees go weak.  “Wondering where the hooch is?  This way.”

Mr. Queen led her down a hallway past the staircase, taking her deeper into the basement.  There was the barest muted thumping--the sound of the band, she guessed--but otherwise, the only sound was the clicking of their shoes against the linoleum tiles.

Then Mr. Queen opened a small door, one he would have to crouch to get through, and gestured for her to step inside.

While Felicity was a patient person with a healthy respect for authority, she also had a need to solve any mystery.  And this was just too much--she couldn't hold her tongue any longer.

“Mr. Queen,  _ what _ is going on?”

“Oliver.”

“What?” Felicity asked, not sure she had heard him properly.

There was another flash of that smile, devastating in its power.  “Oliver.  Mr. Queen is my father.  I understand all of this is . . . unusual, but I have a favor to ask of you and I know we can discuss it in here without being interrupted.  I'll leave the door open if you like, though.”

It shouldn't be possible to become more confused, but she was.  Yet at the same time, her misgivings were eased.  Maybe because he had acknowledged this odd situation, or because he offered to keep the door open, or . . . because he asked her to call him Oliver.  Whatever it was, the need to know what was going on had shifted, from one born out of worry and fear to one springing from her natural curiosity.

Felicity looked at Mr.--Oliver for a moment, then she slowly nodded and stepped into the room, only having to bend her head slightly to enter.

What she found inside wouldn't have looked out of place in one of MIT’s laboratories.  There were two long lab benches with slate tops, holding scientific glassware: vials and beakers of various sizes, resting in wooden racks.  Each bench had a Bunsen burner, a sink and other equipment.  At the far end of the room was a rack of shelves, holding bottles of liquor--what she had been expecting to find in the basement, although there certainly weren’t enough to supply a club like Verdant.  

Why did Oliver Queen have a lab in his basement?

Turning to look at him, Felicity took in his studied nonchalance.  Oliver was leaning against one of the lab benches, his arms folded across his chest.  When she locked eyes with him, he straightened up slightly.  “The day I hired you, you mentioned you went to MIT.”

Had she told him that in the midst of her babbling?  Felicity couldn't recall, but since it was correct, she answered in the affirmative.  “Yes, I went there for two years.”

“Did you study any chemistry while you there?” Oliver asked, his eyes never leaving her face.  The intensity of his expression made her want to squirm, but somehow she managed to stay still.

“Some, although I was studying electrical engineering,” Felicity replied, wondering what his reaction to that piece of information would be.  

“Good,” Oliver said, walking past her towards the storage area.  “I have a proposition for you, Felicity.”

Well, this was already the strangest proposition she had ever received.  And it was just her luck--other girls got propositioned for sex, she got propositioned with chemistry.  Not that she wanted to be propositioned for sex!  Although . . . 

Giving her head a little shake, Felicity followed Oliver at a distance.  “What is it?”

“How does an extra ten dollars a week sound to you?”

Ten dollars?  A week?   _ Extra _ ?  That would nearly double what she made as a waitress at Verdant, which already paid her handsomely.  All her alarm bells were ringing, though, with how he had started by telling her what the pay increase would be, and not what she would be doing for that ten dollars.

“It sounds swell, on the surface.  Although until I know more about what I would be doing, I wouldn’t be able to say if ten bucks is good or not,” Felicity said, feeling strangely confident.

Oliver nodded.  “Practical.  What I'm hoping you'll do is assist me with testing the liquor supplies.”

Felicity blinked.  “Is that all?” she asked, totally affronted.  He had put her through this Byzantine side show in order to ask for her help doing something that would let her get back to her scientific roots?

But he misunderstood.  “Fifteen dollars?”

“No, no, it's not the pay--ten dollars is fine.  More than fine,” Felicity said quickly, waving her hands around.  “It's just, you went through all this smoke and mirrors in order to ask me to do something I'd enjoy?”

A lot of his nonchalance had vanished, leaving an Oliver who seemed uncertain and surprised.  “I guess I wanted to test you,” he finally admitted.  “To get a sense of you beyond just watching you.”

He had been watching her?  Why?  Did he--oh, no, not like  _ that _ , she told herself.  He had been watching her to evaluate her for this job.  Not because he liked her or found her alluring and attractive.

“Well, it was unnecessary,” she told him, making an effort to keep her voice even and unruffled.  “I'd love to test the liquor.”

She paused, her words sinking in, and Felicity squeezed her eyes shut.  “Chemically!  I'd love to test the liquor chemically, to make sure it's--are you doing this because you mistrust your suppliers?  You think they're selling you cheap booze at the price of the good stuff?”

“That's a concern,” Oliver said with a nod.  “But more than that, I want the liquor I serve to be safe.  Nobody is going to go blind--or worse--from rotgut in my club.”

“Oh,” Felicity said, nibbling on her lower lip as she processed that.  She hadn't realized this was all about safety.  She thought he had wanted to know if he was getting cheated.  Having a nobler purpose to these experiments put this extra work in a new light.

“This city has enough problems,” Oliver said, breaking the silence between them.  “People getting poisoned by their liquor shouldn't be one of them.  So, Felicity . . . will you help me?  I thought I knew enough to do this with Digg's help, but there have been a few close calls.  I need help, and I'd--”

He broke off for a moment, looking at her closely, and then took a step towards her.  That brought him to barely an arm's length from her--she hadn't realized they were so close to each other.  At this distance, she had to slightly tip her head back to look at him, which made her even more conscious of his height and his strength.  But his eyes . . . his eyes were vulnerable.  They were searching hers, as if he was looking for something he thought she might possess.  It was like nothing Felicity had ever felt.

“I'd like your help, Felicity,” he said quietly.

It was nice of him to ask.  He probably thought he had to, since it was one thing for her to serve cocktails and another thing to test the alcohol's purity.

But there was no choice to make.

“Let's find out if what's in these bottles is the real McCoy,” Felicity said, invoking the name of the famous bootlegger whose whisky was always pure.

Oliver's eyes widened slightly, like he was surprised she had agreed, but then he began pulling out bottles for her to test.  Finding a lab apron, Felicity put it on over her uniform and began her work, feeling a thrill go through her.  To think, she was getting the chance to do science again!  Maybe this would help her decide if she should focus on returning to MIT.

Whatever she choose, Felicity knew she had already learned a lot in the last month--and she couldn't wait to see what else she could learn.

XXX

Her steps light despite the heavy bag of books slung over her shoulder, Felicity hurried up to the waiting streetcar.  Once she had paid her fare and climbed aboard, she found a seat and leaned back, smiling softly to herself.

If her first month at Verdant had seemed too good to be true, the last two months had been the stuff of dreams.  Because she had never felt so happy, so fulfilled.  This was what she had hoped for when she was a schoolgirl, imaging her future:  making a difference and improving people's lives.  She had never imagined it would be like this--working as a waitress and erstwhile liquor inspector--but she was achieving her goals.

Even, maybe, the secret goal she would have never revealed, except in those times she was most honest with herself.  The dream that someday, she would meet a man who wasn't threatened by her intelligence.  Who let her be her own person, instead of a wife who only cooked and cleaned and mended.

Felicity knew it was dangerous to think about that hope, when she now knew of a real-life man who lived up to her ideal.  Who surpassed it, in fact.  Oliver . . . he was something else, and she couldn't believe the friendship she was building with him.

A friendship which could be more.

Holding back a giggle, Felicity adjusted her glasses.  To think, once she had been skittish and unsure around Oliver.  As she got to know him better, she found he was someone to admire.  Combined with his good looks, she couldn’t help thinking . . . what if?  What if she flirted with him a little?  What if she made it clear that she thought he was something else?  Flirting was fun, and Oliver responded to her tentative attempts in a way that made her want to keep going.  

The only thing keeping her from just throwing all caution to the wind was how important their work was.  Compared to what was happening in other clubs in Starling City, Verdant was a beacon of purity in an impure world.  

Oliver had been right to be concerned about the quality of the alcohol he was selling.  When Felicity had told him some of it was one step up from wood alcohol--potentially dangerous and almost undrinkable unless its taste was hidden by flavorings--he had gone pale, his eyes becoming unfocused.

It wasn't the first time he seemed to go away, getting lost in his memories or thoughts, to a place that Felicity couldn't go.  It didn't mean he had to stay there, though.  So she had rested her hand on his arm, called his name, and told him how they could fix things.

As she brushed up on her chemistry and learned more about the suppliers Oliver worked with, Felicity was able to steer him towards the honest bootleggers.  The relatively honest ones, who sold as good a product as was available.  Felicity was sure some of these guys were making their own bathtub gin and selling it, but it was easy to weed out those types after she tested their product.  Since Oliver was willing to pay for the good stuff, it wasn't too hard to keep a steady supply for the club.

Verdant already had a good reputation in town.  By now, most everyone in Starling City drank there.  Everyone except the city's poorest souls, many of whom lived within walking distance of Verdant.  They had to use the cheaper gin mills, the kind of places which killed a few people every week with bad liquor.

It broke her heart, on her walk to and from the streetcar, to see men and women in torn and dirty clothes, passed out in the street or walking around with shaking hands or stopping to vomit.  She wanted to do more for such people, but what could she do?  Thanks to the extra money she earned, she contributed a dollar every week to the Red Cross.  A dollar wasn't much, but it was something.  She had considered asking Oliver, but she knew his profits were almost nil due to his insistence on buying good hooch without raising prices.

There had to be something more she could do; she just hadn't figured what it was yet.  But she would.  Until then, she would keep doing both her jobs and trying to figure out Oliver Queen.

He was just so . . . mysterious.  Felicity didn't like mysteries.  She wanted to solve Oliver like he was an Agatha Christie novel, because he was so different from what she had expected him to be.  So different from anyone else she knew.  There was a sadness about him, a heaviness weighing him down.  But the more time they spent talking, the more she teased him--totally within the boundaries of employee and boss--the more he seemed to lighten up.  To become less burdened.

He was starting to flirt back with her, too.  Her cheeks still felt flushed from last night, when she had been trying to adjust the garter on one of her stockings and Oliver had walked into the lab.  His eyes had most definitely flicked up and down her leg before Felicity regained her senses and pulled her skirt down.  There was flirting and then there was giving someone the wrong idea.      

Did he think she was some flapper--or even worse, a gold-digger?  Oliver, even though he had definitely liked what he saw, hadn’t said anything about her legs.  He had just asked her about the liquor she was testing.  But there was a glint in his eyes, and she finally had put down the beaker and looked at him.  “Got something to say, mister?”  

“Just sorry I walked in before it got interesting,” Oliver had said, giving her a wink.  Then he had strolled out, his hands in his pockets, and it was all Felicity could do to not giggle.  

Not wanting to act like some feather-brained girl, she had called out after him, “I’ll show you interesting!”  

Which had made her go as red as a beet once her words had sunk in.  

“Simone and Adams!”

The conductor's announcement of the next stop snapped Felicity out of her memories.  That was the stop closest to Verdant, so she gathered her bag and hefted it back into her shoulder, before hopping off the streetcar and walking towards the club.

Roy was guarding the door and she smiled at him as she walked up.  “Good evening,” she said to the young man with the beautiful face.

He nodded, a man of few words, but gave her a small smile.  “Hi, Blondie.”

Rolling her eyes at him, Felicity stepped in through the door he held open for her, heading towards Oliver's office.  She would need him or Digg to let her into the basement, and they were both bound to be there now.

Before she knocked on the office door, she pulled out her compact, applied a bit of powder, and finger-combed the waves in her hair.  Then she balled up her hand in a fist and rapped her knuckles against the door.

“Come in,” Oliver's voice said after a minute.

Pushing open the door, Felicity smiled at being proven correct: both Oliver and Digg were there.  But her smile faded when she saw the third man, one she knew by sight and by reputation.  

Why was Malcolm Merlyn meeting with Oliver?

“Felicity,” Oliver said, rising to his feet.  “What can I do for you?”

Thinking quickly, Felicity guessed Oliver wouldn't want anyone to know that she was more than a regular employee.  So she did her best to smile sheepishly and appear unimportant.  “I'm sorry for interrupting, Mr. Queen, but Carly asked me to fetch Diggle.”

“It can wait,” Digg said, but Oliver waved him off.

“No, Digg, go find out what Carly wants.  Or else she'll have both our heads, and then where would we be?” Oliver asked.  He gave Felicity a tight smile and a nod--of thanks for her quick thinking or of dismissal, she wasn't sure.

Digg didn't look happy, but he rose silently and stepped out of the office, closing the door behind him.

“I'm sorry, Digg, I had some library books to put in the lab . . .” Felicity began to explain, but Digg just nodded and smiled at her.

“It's fine, Felicity.  Just makes me uneasy to leave Oliver alone with a man like Malcolm Merlyn.”

Felicity frowned as Digg led the way to the basement.  “I thought he was just another rich man.  Like Oliver.”

“Trust me, he's nothing like Oliver.”  Digg looked around and then lowered his voice.  “Merlyn runs a bunch of speakeasies in the Glades.  The ones that keep killing people, because he only cares about profits.”

“Oh,” Felicity said quietly.

Digg looked at her again and patted her shoulder.  “It mostly seemed to be a social call.  Oliver's best friend was Merlyn’s son.”

_ Was _ ?  Felicity looked at Digg, who nodded.  “Tommy Merlyn.  He died two years ago.  Oliver's still pretty broken up about it.”

There was nothing Felicity could say, not with a piece of the Oliver puzzle now becoming clear to her.  She mulled that over until Digg spoke again.

“So how come you're getting books from the library when Oliver's got enough money to buy you anything you want?”

With a laugh, Felicity felt the gloom lift and she spent the rest of the trip to and from the basement joking with Digg.  Then she changed into her uniform and began her waitressing duties for the evening.

It was quiet, but since it was Wednesday, that was to be expected.  Felicity didn't mind the quiet nights, because she liked being able to talk to the guests at her tables, finding out about their days and figuring out how she could help them celebrate or forget, as the case may be.  It had surprised her how easily such caring had come to her--and even more when people began to request a table in her section and left her big tips.

After about an hour, she looked around, surveying the club, and then smiled.  One of her regulars had just been seated at his usual table, off to the side in the dimmest corner of the club.

Felicity had dubbed him the Mystery Man, because even more than Oliver, this man was nothing but mysteries.  He always wore a long brown coat which was fully buttoned, along with a fedora and gloves.  He kept his head lowered when he spoke, trying to hide his face in the shadows.  Despite all his efforts, Felicity could still see the scars crossing his face, red and raised and bumpy.  She guessed the scars covered more than just his face, and that he must be so lonely he was willing to risk stares and whispers in order to receive a little human companionship.

What had happened to this poor man?  At first, she thought he might be a veteran of the Great War, but she wasn’t so sure.  He didn't seem old enough to have served then, for one thing.  That just meant Felicity had even less to go on when it came to her Mystery Man.

He was unfailing polite and kind to her.  On his good nights, he had a charm and humor about him.  Even on his bad nights, when he was sullen and withdrawn, he still treated her well.  Although she wanted to know what his story was, Felicity hadn't even thought about asking him for his story.  Because some things you you couldn't ask about like you were asking ‘coffee or tea?’

“It's nice to see you again, sir,” Felicity said as she approached him, her tray tucked under her arm.  “How are you tonight?”

“Thank you, Felicity.  I'm well.”

There was something different in his voice tonight, something that made Felicity wish she could see his face so she could read his expression.  He sounded lighter than normal, like he was feeling cheerful.

“I'm glad to hear that.  Have you gotten a chance to enjoy this swell weather we've been having?  Even though I’m a bit sad summer’s nearly over--I swear, it seems like just yesterday it was May, and now here it is, the end of August,” Felicity said, smiling when Mystery Man nodded.

“I have been outside a little, and you're right, the weather has been spectacular.”

Felicity chuckled.  “You need to learn the new slang, sir.  I thought it was silly at first, but now I'm ‘bee’s knees’ this and ‘good egg’ that.  Maybe I should teach you a new word or phrase every time you come in.”

“I'd like that, but, Felicity . . . I was wondering if you could answer a question for me.”

That was definitely out of  the ordinary--even on his good nights, Mystery Man wasn’t very talkative.  Everything about him tonight was out of the ordinary.  

“Sure, I suppose,” Felicity said, fidgeting with her tray.

“It's nothing to worry about, just a small question,” the man said.

He lifted his head until their eyes almost met.  She thought his eyes were blue, but she didn't get a good enough look before he shifted and the brim of his hat blocked her view. 

“Felicity . . . what can you tell me about Oliver Queen?”

End, Chapter 3


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> All the discussion about the the identity and motives of the Mystery Man was such a pleasure to read! I hope y’all continue to enjoy the fic, especially with the twist I’m introducing in this chapter.

 

Like so many other nights, Oliver stood by the door that led from the dance hall to the speakeasy, taking in what he had built and achieved.  Watching the people laugh and drink and dance, hearing the band play and the clink of glasses.  

Just like every night in the last three months, his attention inevitably became ensnared by one woman.

Felicity was moving through the crowd, carrying a tray of drinks with a smile on her face.  A smile that always seemed to light up the room.  That was what she was like: a ball of sunshine.

For a while, he had thought his time in China had taken away his ability to be happy.  To laugh with people, to enjoy conversation, to charm a girl with a wink and a smile.  And then he had met Felicity, and he realized he just needed someone to shine a light into his dark corners.  To remind him life was a good thing.  

Especially a light that was some looker, inside and out.

His blood still felt heated from the other night, when he had walked in on Felicity with her skirt hiked up, revealing what seemed like a mile of smooth leg, encased in a shimmery stocking.  He had always noticed her legs, but all the work she was doing meant her stems were even better than before.  And they looked so smooth . . . 

“Good evening, Mr. Queen!”  

“Good evening,” Oliver said with a moment’s hesitation, greeting one of Verdant’s many guests.  He needed to get to work, instead of gawking at Felicity and trying to figure out what ‘interesting’ meant.  

He should be focusing on a way to help Starling City.  Fulfilling his promise to his friends by making this city better.  That had to come first, even if it meant he could only admire Felicity from afar.  Even if he had trouble remembering that and he met her teasing with teasing of his own.  He just hoped he wasn't leading her on and giving her ideas.

_ And it would appear you have seen a few too many melodramas _ , a sarcastic voice in his head chided him.  It was a voice which sounded a lot like Tommy.   _ How about you tell the girl the truth so she knows she's what you want? _

Tommy always had been so strangely pro-woman.  Not just because he was a young, rich playboy who liked women, but also as someone who thought a woman wasn't a flower to be protected by first her father and then by her husband.  Oliver never knew where his friend got his ideas, but he would have never dissuaded Tommy's beliefs.  It was what made Tommy special.

It was why he should still be here.  The world needed more men like Tommy Merlyn.

Instead, all the world had was Oliver Queen.

With one last look at Felicity, Oliver turned away and headed upstairs to his office.  There were other matters to consider.  Like checking the weekly profits, to determine how much could be funneled to the various Starling City charities he had been anonymously supporting ever since the club opened.  Like finding time to visit his sister, since Thea had been so busy with debutante business that she hadn’t been visiting Verdant much lately.  Like the unusual letter he had received earlier today.  

When he opened the door to his office, Oliver knew he wasn't going to get to any of that for a while.  Malcolm Merlyn was sitting behind Oliver's desk.

“Malcolm,” Oliver said, his voice one degree above icy.

The father of his dead best friend gave Oliver an oily smile.  “Hope you don't mind that I made myself comfortable.  The other chairs in here are bad for my back.”

Eyeing the overstuffed chairs, Oliver held his tongue until the door was closed.  Then he faced Malcolm.

“Get out of my chair and tell me what you want, Malcolm.”

Before Rebecca Merlyn was murdered, Malcolm had been kind but remote.  He had left Tommy in the care of his nannies and tutors, rarely spending time with his son.  After his wife was murdered, though, Malcolm would leave Starling for years at a time.  Tommy had practically lived at Oliver's house, becoming a member of the Queen family.  Considering those years of neglect and the way Malcolm had acted after Tommy’s death, Oliver could care less about being polite towards him. 

“Of course--a real man wouldn't stand for anyone to invade his domain like this,” Malcolm replied, rising to his feet.  He ambled away from the desk, moving towards the windows that overlooked Verdant’s dance floor, while Oliver walked to his desk and checked that his papers were still in order.

“Have you given any thought to my offer?” Malcolm asked, not turning away from his observation of Oliver's club.  With his hands--clad in gloves as a new affectation of Malcolm’s--clasped behind his back, he looked as though he was the club’s owner.  Which was what he wanted to be.

“Offer?  I wouldn't call it that.  More of an order and veiled threat,” Oliver said, satisfied that Malcolm hadn't taken anything.  He stepped away to join Malcolm at the windows.

“Oliver, be reasonable.  You can't stay independent, not in this city.  Not with the Micks moving in and causing such trouble,” Malcolm said in a condescending voice.

It was all he could do not to grit his teeth.  It was bad enough discovering one of his major competitors was Malcolm Merlyn, who owned multiple speakeasies in Starling City.  But learning Malcolm owned all those gin mills because he ran the Italian mob in Starling City . . .

Frankly, it wasn’t that surprising to Oliver, considering Malcolm’s history.  Which was a good thing, because Oliver sensed if he asked too many questions, Malcolm wouldn't hesitate to show him the error of his ways.    

“There's always room for independent operations,” Oliver replied, making himself focus on the matter at hand.  “It keeps the police from suspecting organized crime exists in Starling City.  Why else has the mob kept quiet about its presence here?”

“Maybe before I returned to Starling City, that was the attitude,” Malcolm said pompously.  “But I have a different vision, one I've been empowered to carry out.  There is no way to stay neutral anymore.  And given the long-standing friendship between the Queens and the Merlyns, I thought you would rather be on my side than against me.”

His jaw tightening, Oliver tried to stay calm.  Whatever vision Malcolm had, Oliver wanted no part of it.  Organized crime was part of what had gone wrong in Starling City.  He wanted to tell Malcolm to take his offer and pound sand.  He would find a way to protect his business, to protect his workers and guests.

“How is your sister, Oliver?  She has so much spirit.  The same as your mother,” Malcolm asked in a quiet voice.

Oliver's blood ran cold and he silently cursed.  He knew Malcolm was playing him, but that didn't change the facts.  If Malcolm was threatening his sister and mother, Oliver couldn't reject Malcolm's offer out-of-hand.  To stand in opposition to Malcolm, he needed a plan and resources.

“I need some more time to consider your offer, Malcolm,” Oliver said, trying to keep his voice pleasant.  “Being a businessman, I'm sure you understand.”

“Of course, Oliver,” Malcolm said, clapping Oliver on the shoulder.  “Just don't take too much time.”

With a squeeze on his shoulder, Malcolm departed.  Oliver walked to his desk in a daze and slumped down in his chair, wondering what he was going to do.

After a few moments, he realized he couldn't just sit here.  There was plenty of other work to do, while he chewed over Malcolm's threats and tried to find another way.

Picking up the strange letter he had received earlier, Oliver began reading it over for the second time.  A quiet knock on the door made him sigh, hoping it wasn't Malcolm coming back.

“Come in,” he called out.

Seeing Felicity walk in made his spirits rise and a smile appear on his face.  He quickly schooled his expression so he wasn’t beaming at her like a schoolboy.  “Hey,” he said, leaning back slightly in his chair and putting aside the letter.  

Her smile wasn’t unrestrained; it lit up his office as she approached him with her tray.  “Carly sent me up with your dinner.  Although honestly, a sandwich and a beer isn’t much of a dinner,” she said, setting the items on his desk.  “Even if it is a sandwich made by Carly, it’s still not enough, I bet, for a big six like you.”  

She screwed up one of her eyes, like she was trying to wink but wasn't able to pull it off.  Oliver gave in and grinned at her.  “I don't know whether to agree or not, since I don't know what 'big six’ means.  I hope it's complimentary.”

“Really, Oliver, would it kill you to learn some slang?” Felicity said, her voice teasing.  “I should make you the same deal I made with one of my regulars, to teach him slang.”

A disconcerting feeling went through Oliver, and he picked up the sandwich and took a bite so he wouldn't say the wrong thing.  Felicity had regulars she joked with--jokes like the ones she shared with him?  He knew she was so bright and cheerful, she couldn't help attracting people to gather around her.  It shouldn't come as a surprise that customers sought her out when they visited Verdant.  It was, though, and he didn't like how he was feeling.

“Is he . . . is that regular here tonight?” Oliver found himself asking.

“No, he never comes on the busy nights,” Felicity said, leaning against his desk.  She frowned.  “Oliver, are you okay?  You've got frowny face.”

Oliver wanted to kick himself.  He didn't mean to give away what he was feeling.  With everyone else, he could disguise his thoughts behind a blank face.  Not with Felicity.  And getting jealous about her paying attention to other people, resenting how she lit up a room--qualities that he liked and admired in her--was not what he wanted to do.

“Frowny face, huh?” he asked, trying to make his voice sound light and joking.  “That must have been something you learned about at MIT.”

She laughed a little.  “Nope, that came from practical study, not books.  But you are okay, right?”

“I’m fine,” he told her, hoping he sounded sincere.  “Just a lot on my mind.  I was wondering--can you come in tomorrow an hour early?  Around four o’clock?”

The words were out of his mouth before he had a reason for Felicity to come in early.  A reason other than he wanted to see her.  

“Of course,” Felicity replied promptly, but with enough curiosity in her voice, Oliver wanted to give her an explanation.  His eyes landed on the letter he had been reading, and he picked it up and held it out to her.  

“I got this today and it all seems a bit strange to me,” he told her.  “Someone contacting me out of the blue, wanting to sell me liquor, but to only communicate through letters . . .”

Felicity took the letter from his hand and ran her eyes over it.  Her lips twisted into a thoughtful pout as she read.

“Hmmm,” she said softly, before handing it back to him.  “Definitely a little strange.  But why do you need me to come in early?”

“To test the sample they sent over,” Oliver replied, feeling relieved at his mind covering for his heart.

“I can do that,” Felicity said.  She mimed letting out a relieved breath.  “When you asked me to come in early, I was trying to think if I had done anything wrong.  I was worried you were going to fire me.”  

He let out a laugh.  “Felicity, I'd fire myself before I'd fire you.”

Her cheeks flushed, but she laughed, too.  “You're so funny, Oliver.”

Before he could tell her it was the truth--or find something to say that wasn't quite so close to the truth--Felicity slipped out of the office.

Slumping back in his chair, Oliver gazed off into space.  The more time he spent with Felicity, the harder it was for him to cope with his feelings.  He was no stranger to desire, to looking at a woman and wanting her.  More unusual was there to be respect and admiration mixed in with the wanting.  He had felt something like this for Laurel, in the beginning.  With Felicity . . . there was even more.  She thought of him as a better man than he knew himself to be--yet instead of being ready to prove her wrong, he wanted to show she wasn’t misguided in believing him to be a good man.

As much as he wanted to save Starling City in honor of his friends, he wanted to make a difference so he could feel like he was worthy of Felicity.  She was beautiful with her full lips, blonde hair, and great figure.  Even more important, she was smart and funny and kind.  She was a woman who inspired a man to be more.    

As much as he liked thinking about Felicity, however, these thoughts weren’t helping him deal with his paperwork or come up with a way to turn down Malcolm’s offer.  Shaking his head, he picked up the half-eaten sandwich and finished it off as he got back to work.  Once he was done here, he could do another round on the floor.  Watching the customers, making sure everything was flowing smoothly.  

Catching another glimpse of Felicity--and maybe even get one of her smiles.  

XXX

When Felicity was waiting tables, she was all smiles and bright eyes.  In the lab, she more often wore a thoughtful expression, with narrowed eyes and pursed lips.  Oliver found he liked watching Felicity bend over a microscope even more than carrying a tray of drinks.  It was like he got to see the real Felicity.

A soft whistle made him realize he had been staring.  Since Felicity had been focused on examining the liquor from their potential new supplier, she hadn't noticed.

“Does that whistle mean the guy's on the up and up?” Oliver asked, bringing his mind back to the matter at hand.

“And how,” Felicity said, pushing back from the lab bench a little.  “For the price he's quoting, this is really good.  It's no home brew, that's for sure.”

Oliver considered that.  “Like it was made in an actual distillery?”

“Yeah,” she said, pushing up her glasses.

That was interesting.  One more piece to a puzzle that hadn't gotten any clearer.  Because Felicity was right: the price quoted by this new distributor would be a good one for mid-level booze.  For something top-shelf, as Felicity had discovered the sample bottle to be . . . this guy was practically giving it away.

That made warning bells go off for Oliver, because operating like that, it would bankrupt someone.  Unless this supplier was playing some angle Oliver couldn't discern.

“You're not sure about this, are you?”

“I'm not,” Oliver admitted, lifting his head to make eye contact with Felicity.  “It'd be one thing if I could meet with him face-to-face.  But he wants to do everything by letter, so . . .”. He shrugged.

“Maybe he's just starting out and looking to make a name for himself.  If he can say he sells his product to Verdant, he wouldn't have to say anything more to speak to its quality.”

The compliment was clear in Felicity's voice, making Oliver feel a wave of pleasure.  He did his best to not be distracted by it, but the warmth of her high regard lingered.

“Perhaps,” he acknowledged.  He drew the letter out of his pocket and ran his eyes over it again, trying to see what he was missing.  “Something about this . . .” he mused under his breath.

Felicity walked over and rested her hand on his forearm, lowering the letter so she could get a better look.  Her scent, of roses and oranges, drifted to his nose and it was all he could do not to inhale deeply.

“Mr. Queen, a man in your business might be in need of additional product,” Felicity read aloud.  “I am in the position to discuss accommodating your needs, if you are interested.  A sample is enclosed, along with a quote.  This quote is firm--no negotiation will be permitted.  If you would like to proceed, please reply by letter to the above address.  Sincerely yours, A. Avalon.  Friar Tuck Ltd.”

“It seems straightforward enough, apart from all the mystery,” Felicity said before laughing softly.  “Which is a contradiction, I know.”

He smiled at her, but Oliver still felt something teasing at the edge of his mind.  “Friar Tuck . . .” he said softly.

“From Robin Hood.  When he met Robin and Little John, he was transporting casks of wine,” Felicity supplied.  “A good name for a liquor distributor.”

“Yeah, I know,” Oliver said.  “I loved Robin Hood when I was a kid.  I read  _ The Merry Adventures of Robin Hood  _ maybe a dozen times--and I wasn’t a reader.  We couldn’t get enough.  Me and my best friend.”

Oliver paused.  He so rarely mentioned Tommy, especially to someone who hadn't known him.  In this moment, the memories were so strong, and he found he wanted to tell Felicity something about himself.

When he looked at Felicity, she was listening so carefully, it didn't feel so hard to talk about Tommy.  “I begged my parents for archery lessons, and they hired an instructor for me and Tommy.  We took lessons for a year, and . . . we actually learned a lot.”

Felicity's smile was soft.  “How good were you?”

“Well, I don't know if I was going to be winning any golden arrows, but I think I was pretty good,” Oliver said, smiling back at her.

“It must have been nice, to have a friend to play with, to have adventures together . . .”

“It was,” Oliver replied, struck by how wistful Felicity sounded.  “What about you?”

She looked surprised by his question, then started cleaning up the lab bench, not looking at him and with her shoulders hunched up around her ears.  “I didn't have many friends.  The other girls thought it was strange I wanted to play scientist instead of house.”

“It's not so strange.  Thea used to play store.  She pretended to sell me everything in her room,” Oliver told her.  Not just because it was true--his best deal was getting Thea's bed for a quarter and then renting it back to her at a nickel a week--but also because he didn’t want Felicity to be embarrassed or uncomfortable with him.  She didn't need to make jokes at her own expense.

When her shoulders slowly relaxed, Oliver realized this conversation was different from how they normally talked.  There was almost no flirting, no teasing.  No, they just . . . shared.  Each of them had revealed something real about themselves.  Something deeply personal.  

Was this what it was like?  To have a girl who held his interest for longer than a night?  A girl who didn’t make him all-too-aware of his shortcomings, but inspired him to rise above them?  

“Oliver?”

Felicity's voice was soft and drew him out of his thoughts.  It wasn't like him to be so unobservant, but something about her let him relax.  Lower his guard and feel safe.  That realization made his heart clench in his chest.

“Yeah?” he asked her, his voice rough.

“I'm going to get upstairs and help Carly get ready.  Unless you need me for anything else . . .?”  The hesitation, the reluctance, made him think she was worried about him.  Concerned about him.  It was more likely she just didn't understand the mood he was in and wasn't sure what to say.

Which made two of them.

He put on his best attempt at a smile and nodded.  “Go ahead.  Get some dinner before you start--it's going to be a long night and you can't work on an empty stomach.”

Felicity nodded and gave him a small smile before she walked out of the lab.

Blowing out a breath, Oliver rested his hands on the bench, leaning forward and letting his head drop.  He knew he was being foolish.  Life was so short, and here he was wasting it by not telling Felicity how he felt about her.  Yet how could he have a relationship with Felicity while fulfilling his promise to Tommy and Laurel?  If there was one thing that had been drilled into his head when he was growing up--a lesson that had stuck with him--it was the idea of doing your duty.  Of knowing that with privilege came obligation.  He wasn't the impulsive, untouchable kid he used to be.

Now was time to prove that.

As his vision focused, he saw the Friar Tuck letter, on the bench in front of him.  Yet again, it brought back his memories of those days with Tommy.  Running around with their bows, pretending to be Robin Hood and Little John, acting out their favorite parts from the movie adaptation that had played in Starling City in the middle of their worship of the folk hero.

It had been a simpler time.  Not just in terms of the world, before the Great War had begun really affecting America.But in how he was just a kid, running around with his best friend, having a big dinner every night and getting everything he ever wanted.

If only fixing his problems could be as simple as it had seemed when he was eleven and thought he was Robin Hood.

Oliver straightened up as the idea occurred to him.

Why  _ couldn't _ it be that simple?

He had never exactly been a fast thinker; his mind moved slowly and deliberately as he evaluated ideas.  Not this time, though.  He knew exactly what he was going to do.  The whole plan, every step he needed to take, what he was hoping to accomplish, was neatly laid out by his brain in the span of a blink of the eye.

A plan to honor his friends and save the city. A plan to make him a better man.  A plan to make him worthy of Felicity.

Moving faster than he ever had before, Oliver turned out the light and locked the lab, heading towards his office.

The police couldn't or wouldn't fight the mobs destroying Starling City from the inside out.  The rich elites didn't care what happened in the Glades as long as it didn't affect them.  There was no one looking out for the people dying from bad hooch.  

No one but him.

XXX

“Oliver?”

“In here,” he called out, waiting for Diggle to step into the room.  Oliver had asked his head bouncer to meet him in the basement of Verdant early on Thursday morning.  Ever since Saturday, Oliver had been thinking and planning his new pursuit.  

It would take time to order a bow and acquire a suit of clothing to disguise his identity.  For now, he could fill the time with preparing his body.  After his return to Starling City, he hadn't wanted to lose the strength he had developed from working on the tramp steamer.  Calisthenics and lifting crates filled with liquor bottles had helped keep his muscles.  Oliver wasn’t much of a fighter, though.  There had been brawls on the ship and in Hong Kong, but he had never come out the winner in those.  He didn't know the best way to throw a punch or knock a man down, and he would need such skills.

Who better to teach him than the bouncer of the most popular speakeasy in town?

Oliver had seen Digg in action, breaking up fights.  His fists could lay a man flat on the ground with one strike.  More than that, Digg seemed to have an unerring instinct to find the ringleader and deal with him, thus taking the fight out of the crowd.

Once he learned that, and had his weapon and disguise, he would be ready.  He just needed Digg to teach him first.

Digg stepped into the room, looking around with narrowed eyes.  Other than an electric bulb hanging from the ceiling, the room was bare.  Oliver thought it would be suitable for fighting practice--that is, if Digg would be willing to teach him.  Whatever objections he did have, though, Oliver would have to find a way to counter them.  He wouldn’t be able to do this without Digg.   

“What’s going on?” Digg asked, his arms folded over his chest. 

“I appreciate you coming in on your day off, Digg.  I’ll make it up to you,” Oliver began, but Digg interrupted him.

“That’s not why I want to know what’s going on,” Digg told him.  “So spill, boss.”

Taking a deep breath, Oliver looked at his employee and friend.  “I want to make a difference in this city.  But in order to put my plan into action, I need to know how to fight.”

His words hung in the air, making Oliver feel nervous.  He kept his chin lifted, his eyes locked on Digg, as he waited for his reaction.

“I thought people like you made a difference by writing checks.  Why would you need to know how to fight to do that?”  Digg's voice was even, neutral.  The skepticism was clear in his voice.

“You grew up here, John, just like me,” Oliver said, noticing how Digg's eyes widened slightly at Oliver's use of his first name.  “You remember what it was like when we were growing up, before and after the war, and then now.  Can you say Starling City is the kind of place you'd want to raise kids in?  The kind of place you would live if you hadn't grown up here?”

He could see Digg thinking this over before he sighed.  “It sure has taken a turn,” Digg conceded.  “Feels like people aren't looking out for each other anymore.  Used to be, all of us here in the Glades had each other’s backs, because . . . well.”

“Because people like my father didn't care about anyone in the Glades?” Oliver asked, already knowing the answer.

“As long as we didn't interfere with business or give you folks something ugly and real to look at?  Yeah,” Digg said.

“Well, I'm not my father,” Oliver said, stepping towards Digg.  “It's not enough for me to just give money and go about my business.  The police are under the thumb of two evils: the mobs and the wealthy.  They can't do anything to heal Starling City.”

Digg looked at him for a long moment.  “And you think you can?  Riding in like some shining knight on a white horse, saving all us poor folks?”

His disdain was clear.  Oliver had told himself that this kind of reaction was likely, but it didn't make hearing it any easier.  If he wanted Digg's help, he had to meet his objections and bring him around to Oliver's way of thinking.

“I saw a lot of things in the years I was gone,” Oliver said quietly.  It took all his courage and determination to look Digg square in the eye.  “The most important thing?  How a helping hand can go a long way.  That's all I want to do: help people in this city.  Honor my friends’ memory by doing what they would do if they were here right now.”

The weight of Digg's gaze was heavy on him.  But looking right at him, Oliver saw how his expression was measuring yet sympathetic.  Still not convinced, but at least willing to consider Oliver’s plans, which was all Oliver could have asked for.

“What would they do if they were here?” Digg asked.

Oliver couldn't help the soft chuckle that escaped him at the question.  “They would fight to save this city.”

Digg nodded slowly, then looked around the room.  “This where you wanna do this?”

The relief washed over him like a wave, but Oliver did his best to act calm and steady.  Not like an excited eleven-year-old.  

“Yeah, if you think it would work.”

“Hmmm,” Digg replied noncommittally.  “For now, yeah.  Might want someplace with higher ceilings.  And you'll want something here.  A mat or something.”  He tapped the toe of his shoe against the concrete floor.

“I will?”

Oliver's question made Digg smile.  A cat-who-ate-the-canary kind of smile.  “Boss, you didn't come to me so you could learn any genteel kind of boxing.  You want to learn how to brawl, how to be a bruiser.  And I can teach you that--but it's gonna hurt when you get slammed to the floor.”

The challenge was obvious.  Digg might be sympathetic to his cause, but he thought that once Oliver saw what was necessary, he would go back to just donating to various causes and give up on this idea.

Digg didn't know how stubborn Oliver Queen was.  When they had taken archery lessons, Tommy was the one with natural talent--an innate understanding of how to use the bow.  Oliver hadn't possessed that kind of talent, and during his first lessons, he knew his parents were just waiting for him to give up.  He hadn't, though, because he had wanted to learn.  With hard work, he had surpassed Tommy, who never liked to practice.

So Oliver knew how to work hard.  And if it would let him wipe that smirk off Digg's face, all the better.

He lifted his hands, balling them up into fists and assuming a fighting stance.  “Do your worst.”

“Oh, this is going to be fun,” Digg said, before he stepped forward and knocked Oliver to the floor with one punch.

XXX

Tonight was the night.  After a month of training, of planning, of waiting, it was time for him to put on his disguise and take to the streets.  

He was nervous as hell.  He was doing his best to hide that from Digg, who had refused to let him go out on his own.  Honestly, having Digg as backup--his own Little John--was reassuring.

Oliver knew he could do this.  He couldn't fail.  Tommy and Laurel were depending on him to keep his promise.  After a few long talks with Digg, he was also certain this was the way to do it: in the shadows with a bow and arrow, as a figure who would someday strike fear into the hearts of Starling City's evil-doers.

Digg, dressed in dark pants and jacket, circled Oliver.  “Are you sure about the green?” he asked, gesturing to Oliver's disguise:  close-fitting pants and a zippered jacket with attached hood, made of dark green twill, his leather quiver on his back.  “You're not exactly going to blend in.”

“Starling City used to be called the Emerald City of the North.  What color better than green?  At least I was able to keep the seamstress from adding sequins,” Oliver told Digg.  He had gone to a local seamstress to make his costume, telling her that he needed an ‘authentic’ Robin Hood costume for a fancy dress party.  He had bought her silence by paying her triple the cost--and explaining his need for secrecy by not wanting a bunch of Maid Marians chasing after him at said fancy dress party.

His compatriot let out a soft snort and shook his head.  “All right.  You ready?”

Oliver nodded, pulling his hood over his head and picking up his bow.  It was a longbow, not that different from what Robin Hood might have used, although made of both yew and hickory for greater strength and power, unlike a traditional yew bow.  After hours of practicing with it, the bow was becoming part of him.  It felt good, to have it in his hands and be ready to go.

Between the costume and the bow, he felt like he presented an image of mystery and intimidation.  An image he could back up thanks to Digg’s teaching.  It had been hard-won skill.  He had thought he had experienced physical soreness and discomfort when he had been working on the tramp steamer--but daily sparring sessions with John Diggle brought him to a new level of pain.  To his surprise, it hadn’t taken him long to pick up what Digg was teaching him.  To understand how to spot a man’s weakness and take him down without delay.

“Okay, then,” Digg said, picking up his Army-issued balaclava, now dyed black.  He tugged it over his head.  “We're just going to reconnoiter.  Start getting the lay of the land, working out from the intersection of Adams and O’Neill.”

“The first rule: know your location,” Oliver said.  He had given some thought to camouflaging his voice, so he tried to lower his voice and make it raspy.

With the balaclava, Oliver couldn't see Digg's expression, but it definitely seemed like he was grinning at Oliver's new voice.  “You sound like a tiny little dog with a head cold.”

With a sigh, Oliver shook his head.  “So it’s a work-in-progress.  But I can’t talk like I normally do.”  

Digg nodded distractedly, his shoulders looking tense.  “Right.  Okay, let's go.”  He paused and looked at Oliver, then held his hand out to him.  “Good luck, Robin Hood.”  

“I’m not Robin Hood, though,” Oliver replied, continuing a discussion they had been having ever since Oliver had shared his initial inspiration with Digg.  “I’m not robbing from the rich to give to the poor.”

“Yeah, since you’d be the first one you’d have to rob,” Digg retorted.  “Then good luck, Hood.”  

“Hood,” Oliver said, trying it out.  He nodded.  “I like that.”  He finally took Digg's hand and gave it a shake, before he followed him out of the basement of Verdant.

Once they were outside, he breathed deeply, walking slowly, his head moving to observe his surroundings.  Trying to memorize everything he saw, developing a mental map of the area instead of relying on his innate knowledge of the Glades.  No, he had to really look if he was to see.

Rain pattered down from the sky, forming puddles that he stepped through silently.  Thanks to the turpentine he had applied to his suit, the rain didn’t dampen the twill and he felt comfortable enough in spite of the chill in the air.  It was now October and fall was settling over Starling City.  At this hour of night, just before midnight, the streets were fairly quiet.  Approaching Adams and O’Neal, the foot traffic picked up.  This intersection was the hub for several mob-run speakeasies, and before Oliver could do something to actually start shutting these places down, he needed to know more about them.  

Slowly, sticking to the shadows, Digg and Oliver walked around, staying alert.  With the hand gestures he had taught Oliver, Digg helped him see the positions to take in order to observe activity at the first three speakeasies.  Oliver could see whether the gin mill used a special knock or a password to gain admittance, watched how many people entered and exited within a fifteen-minute period, even attempted to determine what kind of clientele were using the place and if it could indicate whether it was the Italian or the Irish mob running the joint.

Everything was going well.  Digg seemed more relaxed as they approached the fourth speakeasy.  It was bigger than the first three, with two menacing men flanking the front door.  Oliver noticed an alley which ran along one side of the building and eased into it, knowing Digg would take up his own position to watch the front door.  He kept to one side of the alley, stepping carefully as he looked for a back door.  

He was in luck: there was a back door, at the end of the alley.  Oliver crept closer, watching as the door opened.  He was so caught in trying to get a look at the interior, he didn’t pay attention to his surroundings.  His foot landed on a pile of garbage and skidded out from under him.  Oliver caught himself, but he banged against some trashcans, the sound echoing loudly.

“Who’s dere?” a voice called out in a thick Italian accent.  The door was now standing open, yellow light pouring into the alley--along with several stocky men.  They moved closer to him and Oliver realized his only choice was fighting his way out.  

He took one breath, his hand flexing on his bow, and then he lifted it into position as he snatched an arrow from his quiver.  

“Wha’ da hell?” the voice said again, disbelief and mockery obvious.  The voice’s owner yelped as Oliver’s arrow landed in his shoulder.  

Firing three more arrows, only one of them found its mark, but that narrowed the crowd down from seven to five.  Slightly better odds, but still not good.  

Oliver hit one goon in the face with his bow, knocking him to the ground.  He wheeled to punch another man just as a third one wrapped his arms around Oliver’s throat from behind.  He struggled, trying to break free of the stranglehold, then coughed when someone landed a blow to his gut.  The pressure on his neck suddenly vanished and Oliver punched the man who had given him the gutshot.  

Whirling around, Oliver’s mouth dropped open--partly so he could breathe, but also because he was surprised.  There had been five men after he had fired his arrows, then Oliver had taken out two more.  Digg was standing beside him, his breathing a bit heavier than normal, but nothing like how Oliver was panting.  

“You okay?” Digg asked, eyeing Oliver.

Nodding, he took in the bodies littering the alley.  “You took care of the other three?”  

Digg shook his head.  “No, I only got the two over there,” he replied, gesturing towards the men closest to the mouth of the alley.

“Then who . . .” Oliver asked, looking at the men and trying to work it out.  “One of these guys was choking me.  Then, suddenly, he wasn’t.”  

Frowning, Digg looked around, counting.  “Seven.  I could have sworn--”

When Digg broke off and looked around the alley, Oliver felt his impatience rise.  “What is it?”

“I think . . . I think there was another man here.  A guy who pulled off the one who was choking you,” Digg said slowly.  He nodded.  “Yeah, there was.”  

“Why would someone help us?” Oliver asked, looking around and trying to recall everything that happened during the fight.

Digg shrugged his shoulders.  “Don’t know, boss.  All I know is the guy had scarred hands.  I saw them when he pulled this one off you.”  Digg used his boot to nudge the shoulder of the man who had been choking Oliver.  

End, Chapter 4

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The mention of sequins on Oliver's costume was inspired by miera's fic [Movie Night](http://archiveofourown.org/works/2780630): Oliver and Felicity watch The Adventures of Robin Hood and Oliver cracks up about the sequins on Errol Flynn's costume.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For those of you who have been enjoying the fluffy Olicity romance so far, this chapter will be very good for you. :-) Enjoy!

 

As Felicity walked through Verdant, she had the kind of butterflies in her stomach she hadn’t felt since she had started working there.  It was only three months since her first days at the nightclub, yet she wasn’t nervous about her job, whether it was waiting tables or testing the liquor supplies.  No, that part was going well.  

She was nervous because she could practically feel Oliver's eyes on her from his position at the speakeasy door.  It wasn't creepy or disturbing--more a gentle warmth that made her skin tingle.  And with each minute he spent watching her, she found herself wondering, was it now?  Was today the day the unspoken chemistry between them flared up into a fire?  Would one of them reach their breaking point after all the flirting and do something that couldn't be laughed off or ignored?

There was no way she could deny the connection between Oliver and herself.  They laughed together, they seemed to find each other not bad to look at, and most important of all, they had shared real, meaningful conversations.  The hours in the lab, the stolen moments talking in his office, the way he walked her to the streetcar every night and didn't leave until she boarded . . .

Oh, she was just all wet.  If she had any moxie at all, she would force the issue with Oliver.  Go to him and tell him how much she liked him, and ask him if he liked her.  Since she liked Oliver  _ so _ much.  She had from the first moment they had met, and her feelings had only been growing since then.  Especially in the last month.

Something had changed in Oliver.  He had always been a good man in her opinion, but lately, he had been saying and doing things that made her take a second look at him.  When she stepped into his office, there were copies of all the Starling City papers--not just the  _ Examiner  _ and the  _ Times _ , but even rags like the  _ Tattler _ .  There were a few new staff members, ones that weren’t exactly necessary, but they were older and seemed to have been down on their luck before Oliver gave them a job.  

Then there were the things he was saying.  Given how he had grown up and his family, Felicity had thought he would be in favor of businesses growing and expanding no matter what, while workers were told they were lucky to have a job.  From what little she knew of Robert Queen, he seemed to agree with President Coolidge’s statement about “the business of America is business.”  

Yet it seemed like this wasn’t a case of like father, like son.  Oliver was downright liberal, even progressive by comparison.  Lately, he had been talking about how businesses took advantage of people, the dangers of Prohibition when it came to the poor, and the need for the government to protect people who had no one else to help them.

It wasn’t at all what she would have expected from someone who was part of Starling City’s elite.  Although she should be doing her job right now instead of lollygagging like this, lost in her thoughts.

Felicity set the drinks on her tray and carried them over to a table of baby flappers in the corner.  The girl at the center of all the action looked like a real vamp--at least, she was sure trying to be.  With dark, wavy hair and big green eyes, she was a looker, but Felicity couldn't help thinking she was just too young to be here.  Especially with the rest of the people at her table looking three or four years older than her.

“Here we go, gin fizz, gin Rickey, beer, beer, and a mint julep,” Felicity said as she passed the drinks around.  Then she hesitated as she watched the girl lift her drink to her lips.  

“You know, if you don't like it, there's plenty of other options,” Felicity found herself saying.  “The bartenders here are first rate.  They make such good drinks, I'd bet you wouldn't even miss the alcohol if you gave them a try.”

The girl paused and looked at Felicity, her fingers tightening around her glass.  Felicity gave her an encouraging smile, feeling relieved when the girl began to lower her glass.  Suddenly the girl's face went white, her eyes going as big as silver dollars.

“Ollie--” she cried out, making Felicity take a step back in confusion.  Right into Oliver, whose eyes were blazing with anger.  He wrapped his hand tightly around the girl's upper arm and pulled her to her feet before turning to glare at Felicity. 

“What the hell are you doing?” he hissed.  “No one is allowed to serve my sister booze!”

“Your--your sister?” Felicity asked, feeling her knees shake.  This girl was Oliver's beloved baby sister, the one he talked about with such pride and love?  

The girl--Thea, Felicity knew her name was Thea--tugged her arm free from Oliver.  “It's not her fault!”

“Thea, darling, I had no idea your brother was such a brute,” one of Thea’s friends drawled as she lifted her glass to her lips.

A glass that Oliver knocked out of her hand.  “Get out of my club.  Now.”

His voice was low and dark, full of menace.  The girl gaped at Oliver, her mouth hanging open, even as the other three girls scrambled for their bags and pulled her along with them.

Leaving Felicity in the middle of what looked like an awful fight brewing between the two Queen siblings.

“I make one rule for you, Thea, and you keep trying to break it.  How'd you pull it off tonight?  Did you flirt with one of the bouncers?  Or did you just take advantage of a waitress--you thought I'd fire her instead of getting mad at you?” Oliver said quietly, his words coming out harsh and clipped.  “I'm ashamed of you.”

Thea Queen definitely looked her age now, with tears pouring down her cheeks even as she stood her ground before her brother.  “I know you're not going to fire anyone.  You would only ever blame me, and that's what you should do.  I tried to break the rules for a stupid reason, but, Ollie, you don't know what it's like, living with Mom and Dad . . . I feel like I'm drowning every day.”

Felicity bit her lip, feeling a strange kind of sympathy for Thea.  There was such a bleakness in her voice.  Like despite all her material advantages, Thea would give them all up if only to have her parents--what?  Be proud of her?  Love her?

Oliver must have heard it too, because all the anger drained out of him.  He wrapped his arms around Thea, pressing a soft kiss to her hair.  “Okay, Speedy,” he murmured, comforting his sobbing sister.  “It's okay.  Let's go up to my office and we'll talk.”

At his words, Felicity began edging away, hoping neither of them would notice her and that they would assume she had left earlier, that she hadn't intruded on this private moment.

But then, Oliver's eyes met hers.  She could see the silent apology for his behavior, and his request for her to keep this quiet.  Which was just ridiculous--of course she would keep this quiet.  Of course she would help him keep his sister safe and protected.  

Nodding quickly, Felicity turned away and got back to work, taking care of her other tables, doing everything she could to not think about Oliver.  

XXX

She should have gone home with everyone else.  What she had to do in the lab could have waited until tomorrow.  By staying late, she was keeping Digg from going home, too.  Admittedly, he hadn’t seemed very quick to leave tonight, either--almost like he was grateful she wanted to stay late.  Still, Digg must want to get home.

It didn’t feel right, though, to leave without seeing Oliver first.  

After she had stepped away, she had assumed Oliver had taken Thea to his office, like he told his sister.  According to Digg, Oliver had then escorted his sister home.  Which explained why she hadn’t seen him for the rest of the night . . . and why she felt so bereft.  

Frowning, Felicity bent over the microscope and tried to concentrate.   _ Bereft _ was much too strong a word for how she was feeling.  It wasn’t so dramatic as that.  It was more like . . . a sore spot on a tooth, one you just couldn’t help prodding a little as you tried to work out the cause for the discomfort.  

However, her feelings for Oliver were getting more and more difficult to control.  It was becoming harder to keep the flirting light and breezy, to stay on the surface instead of going deeper.  Like when they had talked about their childhoods, Oliver with his love of archery and her with playing scientist.  She wanted to know more about Oliver, wanted to go beyond the mask he showed the world to see the real man.

Soon, she wouldn’t be able to hold back, she knew.  If she wasn’t careful, she would just haul off and kiss Oliver, and then . . . oh, all of this would be over.  There was no way she could keep working here, and that was enough to really make her feel bereft.  

There was a quiet thud that made Felicity startle, her head lifting and swiveling around as she tried to figure out what was going on.    

Another thud made her stand up and tiptoe to the lab door.  Was someone trying to rob Verdant?  Or even worse, could it be a raid?  Were federal officers breaking in to find the hooch?

Felicity looked around the room wildly, trying to see if there was any way for her to hide the liquor in here or if there was any place for her to hide.  Then there was a garbled groan, before a voice she knew very well spoke in a low whisper.

“Damn!”

“Oliver?” she asked, stepping out into the hall without thinking.  Her mouth fell open at what she saw.

He was . . . shirtless.

Her mouth went dry as she took in Oliver's bare torso.  She has seen shirtless men in movies, of course, but never in real life.  Although she wasn't an expert, she thought Oliver's chest was much nicer than anyone else's.  Although ‘nicer’ was really damning with faint praise, because . . . he looked flawless.  

“Oliver, what--” she started to ask, but then she gasped.  “You're bleeding!”

Blood trickled down his chin from a cut lip.  The cheek and temple around one eye looked bruised and battered, even in the basement’s dim light.  He seemed to be holding himself stiffly, too.

“Felicity,” he said, sounding shocked.  “What are you doing here?”

“I was waiting to talk to you, about earlier tonight--about Thea,” she told him, closing the distance between them and feeling her heart pound harder with each step.  “Oliver, what  _ happened _ to you?”

“It's nothing, I'm fine,” he said quickly.  “You should be home.  Just--just give me a minute to clean up, and I'll take you home.  The streetcar isn't running anymore and it’s not safe out there.”

She wanted to snap that the streetcar was the least of her problems right now, but she wasn't about to worry about something that didn’t matter when Oliver was bleeding right in front of her.

“Let me help--I was a Junior Red Cross member during the War,” Felicity said quickly.  “Do you have a first aid kit somewhere?  In your office?”

“Yes, but, Felicity--”

Pointing her finger at him, trying to keep her emotions in check, Felicity said, “I'm going to help you, Oliver.”

In his good eye, she could see the emotions swirling.  For a moment, she felt bad about being stubborn and arguing with him when he was hurting.  But . . . but she just  _ had _ to help him.

Finally, Oliver have her a defeated little nod.  “Okay.”

“Okay,” Felicity said, taking Oliver's warm, muscled arm in her hands.  “Lean on me if you need to.”

With slow steps, they made their way out of the basement and up to Oliver's office.  She could tell he was hurting, but he refused to let her help him with his weight.  

He was so stubborn . . . and wonderful.  Full of wonder.  At least, that was how she felt when she looked at him.  She didn't know a man's body could be so beautiful.  Even bloody and sweaty and bruised, Oliver’s body was wonderful.  Nearly as wonderful as he was.

“You don't have to help me,” Oliver said when they reached his office.  “I can handle this.”

“Quiet,” Felicity said, pushing him into a chair.  “Where are the supplies?”

To her surprise, Oliver gave her a small smile.  “You're very bossy.  Over there, bottom shelf.”

He pointed towards a bookcase across the room, and Felicity hurried over to it.  Her mind was moving even faster.  'Bossy’ wasn't normally a compliment, but Oliver sounded like he liked that about her.

Picking up the khaki green box with a dull red cross on it, Felicity carried it over and knelt beside Oliver.  “Right,” she said, going through the kit's supplies.  “Take care of your lip, and your eye--does anything else hurt?” she asked, looking up at him.

When he shook his head, she knew he was lying.  With the way he had been walking, she bet his ribs hurt.  “Oh, for heaven's sake, Oliver, stop being so stubborn,” she said, glaring at him.

“Stubborn?  Who are you calling stubborn--”  Whatever else he was going to say was lost in a hiss when Felicity reached out and touched his sides.

His skin was so warm under her fingers.  Warm and soft.  She looked up at him and felt her breath catch at how he was looking back at her.  “See?” she finally managed to say.  “You  _ are _ hurting.”

Felicity could see his Adam's apple bob as he swallowed.  “Not--not anymore.”

“You must have hit your head, too,” Felicity muttered, touching his ribs lightly.  She had no idea what she was looking for, but she would know it if she felt it, she thought.  This let her brace herself to handle his bloody lip, since she wasn't great with blood.  Or the truth.  As a Junior Red Cross member, she had rolled bandages and made coffee, not done anything nurse-like.  But Oliver was hurting and she didn't want him to hurt.

Now she was just . . . stroking his sides slowly, feeling his chest expand and contract under her hands.

Jerking her hands away, Felicity climbed to her feet.  “Let me fix your lip, then I'll--I’ll get Digg and he can help with the rest.”

“All right,” Oliver said, gazing at her.  “Felicity?”

“Yes?” she asked, rummaging through the first aid kit for m ercurochrome and gauze.

“Why are you doing all this?”

Biting her lower lip, Felicity looked down at the first aid kit, wondering how to answer Oliver.  She wanted to tell him the truth, but it just seemed so . . . dangerous, more dangerous than however Oliver had gotten hurt.  It opened her up to so many questions.  Why did her hands get clammy and her heart start pounding when she looked at him all bruised and battered?  How could she take this step, risking everything, when she felt so much about him?  

“That’s . . . such a silly question, Oliver,” she said, taking a bit of gauze and dabbing it on his lip to clear away the blood.

“Not so silly from where I’m sitting,” he replied quietly.  She could feel his eyes on her, just like always, and felt the same warming sensation, the same tingle.  Although being so close to him like this, with his shirt off . . . it was more than warmth.  Her whole body felt like it was ready to burst into flames.  

For once, the blood wasn’t bothering her.  Maybe because Oliver was bothering her more.  Or because she knew she was helping him.  She finished cleaning away the blood and saw it was just a small cut in the corner of his mouth.  Dowsing a bit of gauze with mercurochrome, she began applying it gently to his skin.  He winced slightly, but let her keep applying it.  

“Be--be careful not to lick the corner of your mouth,” she said, glancing at him.  “I’m trying to go lightly, since the mercurochrome will stain your skin, but--”

“Felicity,” Oliver said, reaching out to touch her hand, pushing away the antiseptic-soaked gauze from his face.  It was clear he wasn’t going to let her delay answering his question any longer, and she felt a sudden swell of courage like she had never experienced before.

“I care, that’s why I’m doing this,” she replied hotly, staring right at him.  “I care, and it’s a crime you’re hurt right now--not just because you’re gorgeous, which you really are, I’ve always thought so but especially now that I’ve seen you half-naked.”  

Felicity swallowed, feeling her cheeks go red, but she wasn’t done yet and she just had to get this all out.  “It’s not just because of . . . that,” she said, gesturing to his chest.  “But because I don’t like you being hurt--and so I wanted to help fix you.”      

As she spoke, Oliver had straightened up in his chair, leaning forward.  His mouth hung open a little bit and his good eye, the one that wasn’t swollen shut with a developing shiner, had widened from . . . what?  Surprise?  Shock?  Displeasure?  

This wasn’t how she had imagined she would confess how she felt about him.  Not with him bruised, not with the heavy odor of mercurochrome in the air.  She thought it would be so much more pedestrian.  But . . . but now Oliver knew that she had real feelings for him--that this wasn’t just flirting with her boss--and she . . . 

She needed to leave.  

Swallowing, Felicity carried the piece of gauze to the trash can and dropped it in.  “I’m just . . . I’m going to call Barry and ask him to pick me up.  I’ll send Digg up here to help you with the rest.”  

“Felicity--”

“I’m sorry, Oliver,” she said weakly, not looking at him.  Not able to look at him, because she could feel tears threatening.  “I’m sorry for this.”  

Without waiting for him to say anything else, she hurried out of his office, choking back a sob.  Wishing she hadn’t said anything, because now she didn’t know what to do.

XXX

“Caitlin . . .” Felicity moaned, drawing out her friend’s name.  “The last thing I want to do is go to Verdant tonight.  It’s my night off.  And--and I can’t go back there.  Not so soon.”  

“That is where you are wrong,” Caitlin said from her place in front of Felicity’s closet, flicking through the dresses hanging from the rod.  

“Oh, I’m wrong?  How am I wrong?” Felicity asked grumpily, folding her arms over her chest.  

Caitlin turned and gave her a look, before walking over and plopping down beside Felicity on her bed.  “I know what happened was . . . embarrassing.”  

“Embarrassing?  Try mortifying!” Felicity cried, wishing she could just crawl under the covers and never come out.  “I told Oliver-- _ Oliver Queen _ , my boss and the heir to a gigantic family fortune--that I cared about him!  That I thought he was gorgeous!”

Rolling her eyes, Caitlin nudged Felicity’s shoulder with her own.  “Like Oliver doesn’t know that he’s gorgeous.  Or that you care about him.  Felicity, I could tell as soon as I saw you with him, that night he dragged you away from us.”  

“He didn’t drag me away--you’re making it sound too dramatic, Cait.”  Felicity shifted around on the bed, drawing her kimono closer around herself.  

“Jealous that I’m horning in on all the melodrama, when you’ve been doing such a great job at it?” Caitlin asked, wrapping an arm around Felicity’s shoulders.  “Felicity, you’ve been carrying a torch for Oliver for months.  It’s a good thing you let him know you’re interested.  Because he likes you, too.  So maybe he was just waiting for a sign from you before making a move.  I bet if you go to Verdant tonight, he’ll find an excuse to get you alone with him--all so he can confess his love.”  

Felicity leaned against Caitlin with a sigh, wondering if maybe, just maybe, her friend was right.  After all, she knew Oliver was interested in her.  Had he held back because he was her boss?  Maybe he had some strange notion that it wasn’t appropriate for him to make a move on her when he didn’t know how she felt?  

Well, that certainly wasn’t the case anymore, she thought with a sigh.  Now Oliver knew she cared, knew she had a crush on him . . . what would he do?  Felicity didn’t know, but she wasn’t sure if she was ready to find out just yet.  

“I know it’s your night off, but you’ve been working so hard, putting in your extra hours.  You deserve to have some fun--and tonight is the dance contest at Verdant.  If you don’t come, Barry won’t have a partner.  The prize is twenty-five dollars!”

Thanks to how well she got paid at Verdant, money wasn’t a big draw for Felicity.  She knew it would make a difference to Barry, though.  And besides, Caitlin was right.  It had been weeks since she had spent time with her friends, talking and laughing and having fun.  That sounded like just the ticket.

Even if she was at Verdant, it was unlikely that she would see Oliver.  He didn’t like to dance at all--it was only Carly’s influence that got him to allow dance marathons and Charleston contests.  On those nights, he usually steered clear of the dance floor, staying in his office and letting Digg run the event.

“I suppose . . .” Felicity hedged, only for Caitlin to throw her arms around her.

“Oh, this is going to be the cat’s meow!” Caitlin exclaimed.  She pulled Felicity to her feet and dragged her to the closet.  “Now let’s pick out something that will knock everyone’s socks off!  What about this blue one?”

“I’ve worn it a bunch of times,” Felicity said, sliding the hangers along the rod.  Then she stopped at the bright pink dress at the end of the row.  “This is new.  Mom just brought it home for me.”  

“You'd look wonderful in it.  Come on, get dressed!  Ronnie and Barry are going to be here in a half-hour,” Caitlin said.

As she got ready, Felicity felt her spirits rising.  It helped that Caitlin carried the conversation, talking about her upcoming wedding to Ronnie and what was happening with all their friends.  The way Barry’s eyes widened when he saw her didn't hurt, either.

“Wow.  You look like the bee’s knees, Felicity,” he said, giving her a smile and a kiss on the cheek.

Barry might not be the man she wanted, but it sure was nice to get a compliment.  She smiled back at Barry and thanked him, asking if he was ready for the dance contest.

“And how,” he replied with a grin.  “If we win, I'm going to use my share to finish paying for my suit for Ronnie’s wedding.  The best man needs to look as good as the groom.”

Felicity laughed.  “The rules are different for the bridesmaids--no one is supposed to look beautiful as the bride.”

Barry joined in her laughter, and their trip to Verdant was filled with jokes and talk.  Which was good, because it kept Felicity's nerves at bay until they were walking into Verdant.

It reminded her of the first night she had come here, when all her dreams had been about getting back to MIT.  Now, her dreams had changed.  She had changed: it hadn’t been much time, but she had grown and evolved, maturing enough to realize that a career wasn't enough for her.  Yes, she wanted to get her degree and work on something important.  But she also wanted to spend more time with her mother, to have more nights like this with her friends, and maybe even know what it was like to be in love.  Her future had become so much bigger, and she was so grateful that it had.

Unlike that first visit to Verdant, she didn’t look around and boggle at all she saw.  Now, when she walked into Verdant, it felt like coming home.  There was Carly, smiling as she led Felicity and her friends to a very nice table near the dance floor.  There was Roy, giving her a wink as he carried a tray of glasses over to the bar.  Digg, from his position by the speakeasy door, gave her a nod, his eyes filled with warmth.

The only thing missing--and it was a big piece--was Oliver.  She missed the tingle she felt when he was around.  She missed the sense that they were partners, even if it was all in her head.  She missed feeling special.  That was how Oliver made her feel: like she could accomplish anything, MIT degree or not.

“No moping, Felicity!” Caitlin said, plopping a drink down in front of her.  

Barry rubbed her shoulder and Ronnie nodded.  “Come on, Smoaky,” Ronnie said with a smile, using his nickname for her.  “This is getting you ready for the party our wedding is going to be!”

Caitlin laughed and kissed Ronnie's cheek and Felicity smiled brightly at her friends.  “And as a bridesmaid, I have a responsibility to make the bride's day perfect,” she said, lifting her glass.  “But first, a toast.  To friends like us.”

“Friends like us!”  Everyone chorused together, before taking healthy swallows of their drinks in unison.

It had been too long since she felt this warmth in her veins.  Oliver's gaze had been enough to make her feel drunk.  Tonight, gin would have to do.

The next hour before the start of the dance contest was spent in conversation and drinking.  Felicity made sure to go slowly, not wanting to get so drunk that she couldn't remember anything about tonight.  Barry joined her in that, allowing Ronnie and Caitlin to enjoy themselves.

The band was playing all of Felicity's favorite songs, and when they began playing  _ Let’s Misbehave _ , Felicity couldn't keep sitting any longer.

“Barry, come on!” she said, pulling him up and onto the dance floor.

He laughed and went with her, drawing her into his arms and leading her in the energetic foxtrot they often danced.  

Oh, this was wonderful.  Caitlin had been so right to make her come out tonight, to remind her that life was about having fun and laughing.  Life wasn't about worrying--life was about living!

“May I cut in?”

That sounded like Oliver, but it couldn't be--

Barry turned them both and Felicity felt her mouth drop open.  It  _ was _ Oliver.  Oliver, who didn't dance, who hated to dance, asking to cut in.  Looking at her with a black eye and a cut lip, a tight jaw and tense shoulders.  To make this even more unbelievable, he wasn't wearing his normal clothes--he was wearing a suit.  A really nice suit, one that showed off his body, the body she knew was even better without clothes.

“Um . . .” Barry said, looking back and forth between Oliver and Felicity.

Holding his hand out, Oliver said, “Oliver Queen.  You must be Felicity's friend Barry.”

“Oh, Mr. Queen!” Barry said enthusiastically, releasing Felicity from his hold in order to shake Oliver's hand.  “Yes, Barry Allen.  I've heard a lot about you from Felicity--and I'm a big fan of Verdant.  It's one of my favorite places in Starling City.”

Oliver gave Barry a smooth smile, his eyes flicking to Felicity's.  “Thank you.”

As Barry began praising various elements of Verdant, Felicity blinked.  For a genius, Barry was an idiot.  Didn't he notice the tension growing by the second?  The way she couldn't stop looking Oliver?  The way Oliver kept looking at her, just humoring Barry?

“Thank you for all the praise, Barry, but I was wondering if I might steal your partner for a dance,” Oliver finally said.

“Of course, Mr. Queen,” Barry replied, taking a step back and making Felicity realize this was really happening.  Oliver really wanted to dance with her.

“You don't dance,” Felicity blurted out, too confused to do anything but start with one of the basic questions: why did Oliver want to dance with her?

Oliver looked at her, a small smile playing on his lips.  “I make exceptions to the rules.”

Before she could say anything else, Oliver took her hand, making her whole arm feel alive, and drew her onto the dance floor, away from Barry.  Then, he gave a tug on her hand, and she was in his arms.

At the same moment, the band switched from fast to slow, playing  _ Someone to Watch Over Me _ .  Felicity bit her lip and followed Oliver's lead.  He was a little stiff--perhaps from what happened last night?--but otherwise, he seemed perfectly capable of a foxtrot.

It was everything she could do to not give in to the music and the feel of Oliver's arms.  She wanted to close her eyes and get swept away, but she just couldn't relax like that.  The dam had been broken; if she let herself go, there was no telling what would happen.  She didn't want to embarrass herself in front of Oliver any more than she already had.

“You're a good dancer,” Oliver said softly, his breath stirring the hair around her temple.  

“T-thank you,” she stuttered, keeping her eyes focused on his shoulder.  “So are you.”

She could see his shoulder move as he chuckled.  Could feel it where their torsos were touching.  “You're much better than me.”

“Well . . . as long as you enjoy yourself, dancing is fun.  It--it doesn't really matter if you're good,” Felicity said, feeling like her mouth had two left feet.

“Nice thought,” Oliver said.

Neither of them said anything more for a minute and Felicity felt her nerves increase.  This was just so intimate, having Oliver's hand pressing against her back, her hand in his . . .

“How--how is Thea?” she asked, both to break this tense silence and because she wanted to know if his sister was all right.  She glanced up at him, seeing warmth and admiration in his eyes, and ducked her gaze down, back to his shoulder.

It might be her imagination, but his hand tightened on hers.  “Thea is fine.  We talked everything over last night, and we've come to an understanding.”

He paused and then spoke again, his voice filled with something soft and honest.  “She told me how you were trying to persuade her not to drink.  Yet you didn't seem to know who she was.”

“I didn't,” Felicity said, making herself to look at Oliver instead of being rude.  “She doesn't look much like you, and I hadn't heard her name.  I know the rule that your sister wasn't to be served, but I wasn't thinking about that.  I . . .” Felicity hesitated, but then said slowly, “I thought she was too young to be drinking and maybe she was in a bad crowd.  I normally wouldn't have said anything, but--”

“I'm glad you did,” Oliver said, proving he was no normal businessman.  “I'm glad you trusted your instincts--and not just because you persuaded Thea to change her mind.  Thank you, Felicity.”

Oh, how was a girl supposed to resist him?  How was she not supposed to get ideas, when a man said her name in such warm, rich, adoring tones?  When he looked at her like she was the sun in the sky?  When he was handsome on the outside, but on the inside he was even better?  Full of so many good qualities, you couldn't help thinking about true love and happily ever after?

The answer was, she couldn't. 

Felicity lowered the hand that was resting on Oliver's shoulder and laced the fingers of her other hand through his, capturing him.  “Come with me,” she told him, pulling him with all her strength off the dance floor, over towards the door to his office.  Once they were there, she dropped his hand, only to startle as he immediately wrapped his fingers around hers.

“What are you doing?” she asked him, staring up at him.

“I’m holding your hand,” Oliver said simply, looking down at her.  

“Why, though?  You’ve never held my hand before.”  

Oliver shrugged his shoulders.  “Because I felt like it.”  

_ Why  _ was he being so infuriating?  She thought she understood Oliver, even if she didn’t know everything about him, but this was just so utterly confusing she didn’t know what to think--other than she was getting angry.

Tugging her hand free of his, Felicity put both of her hands on her hips.  “What is going on with you?  Last night, you nearly bite my head off about Thea--which I understood, because I know how much you care about her and I knew how it looked.  Then you stay out late and come back all beaten up.  And when you asked me why I was trying to patch you up, I told you why.”  

Oliver didn’t say anything as she took a step towards him, but she saw him swallow.  

“I told you I think you’re handsome--actually, I said you’re gorgeous,” Felicity said, holding his gaze with her own.  Not letting him back down or hide from her.  “And I told you I care about you.  And even though I still wish the floor would open up underneath me, or if it really was possible to go back in time and change what I said, I still said it.  I think you’re the best man I know, Oliver Queen--so what are you going to do about that?”

She was almost panting by the time she finished talking, her heart pounding in her chest as she stared up at him.  Waiting to find out just what Oliver would say.

He didn’t say anything, though.  His hands lifted and cupped her face in his hands, and Felicity opened her mouth to protest--or maybe to sigh with longing at how good it felt to have his hands holding her face so delicately and tenderly--but she didn’t get the chance to do anything before his lips were on hers.  

And then she wasn’t thinking at all.  Only feeling.  

Oliver’s lips were warm and soft, yet firm and passionate.  They moved slowly against hers, applying just the right amount of pressure.  His big hands angled her head back to create the perfect angle as his thumbs stroked her cheeks softly.

It felt so good.  It felt right.  It felt like happily ever after.  It felt like what she had been looking for.   

“Wait--wait, Oliver, what does this mean?” Felicity asked, pulling away and panting.  She felt dizzy and uncertain, and she just needed to hear Oliver say  _ something  _ about how he felt.

His eyes searched her face, then he leaned in towards her.  “I think you’re some doll,” he whispered in her ear, “and I’m just goofy for you.  I’d really love if you came into my office with me so we could neck a little.”

The sound of Oliver talking slang was so silly and so unexpected, she couldn’t help grinning widely at him.  He liked her, too, and he wanted to kiss her some more--and do more than kiss--and she just couldn’t believe she had gotten so lucky, and oh, boy.

“Did you ask someone how to say all that?” she asked, resting her hands on his hips.  “Because it was sweet of you to learn, but also . . . you sounded so silly.”  

“I felt silly,” Oliver said, his hands smoothing over her back.  “But it won’t matter if you say yes.”  

Felicity went up on her toes in order to press a soft kiss against Oliver’s lips.  “Yes,” she murmured against his mouth, then let out a squeal as Oliver opened the door of his office and dragged her inside.

End, Chapter 5 

 


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’m behind on replying to comments, but not because I don’t appreciate all the love this fic is getting. The response this story has received is such a thrill, since historical AUs aren’t everyone’s cup of tea. So thank you so much to all of you who are reading and reviewing!

 

With a smile on his face and a lightness to his step, Oliver Queen walked up to the front doors of the Starling City Country Club.  Once he had stepped inside, he started looking around for his sister.

He had only gotten four hours of sleep last night, after spending several hours on the streets, trying to learn more about Malcolm Merlyn’s businesses and if he had any weaknesses.  His only lead so far was the scarred man who had helped during their first patrol, but any attempts to learn the man’s identity had come up empty.  Meanwhile, Malcolm was putting more and more pressure on him sell Verdant and let it fall under the control of the mafia.  On top of that, his parents were not thrilled at his attempts to intercede with them on Thea’s behalf, because they continued to see him as a bad influence.

Yet none of those things mattered very much.  Not with how Thea’s face lit up when she stepped out of her debutante class.  He was here to take her to lunch, where she would officially meet Felicity.  His girlfriend.  

It was enough to make his smile go big and goofy, but Oliver didn’t really care.  For once, something in his life was going right.  Having Felicity as his girlfriend . . . it made a difference.  The load was lighter somehow, even if Felicity didn’t know anything about what he did every night after he took her home at the end of her shift.

At some point, he would want to tell her the truth.  It didn’t seem right, to keep a part of his life secret from Felicity.  The only concern he had was how to tell her.  She would definitely be upset that he kept something from her.  But would she object to his actions, too?  It wasn’t as if she would be upset because he was doing something illegal.  Punching mobsters and trying to clean up his city was different from making sure he was selling good hooch at Verdant, however.  He had noble goals, but would Felicity see why this was the only course open to him?  

This debate would have to wait.  He had a lunch to get to, after all, and a curious sister in the seat next to him.  

“So give it to me straight, big brother--you fell in love with one of your waitresses, like something out of a movie or a dime novel?” Thea asked, looking at him with amusement dancing in her eyes.  

Oliver shook his head as he changed the gears of Digg’s car.  At this rate, he would have to get his own car--it wasn’t like he could use his motorcycle when he was escorting his sister or his girlfriend.  

“It’s not quite as bad as that,” he told Thea.  “That’s just how we met--we grew closer because we spent time together, working in my lab.”  

Thea wrinkled her nose.  “Please say that’s not some strange euphemism.”  

Doing a double-take, Oliver glanced at his sister.  “Did you learn about euphemisms in school, or from those girls you came to Verdant with?”  

“From them, of course.  Really, Ollie, you should know you learn nothing useful in school.  And don’t change the subject.”

“Felicity studied chemistry in college.  She’s helped me make sure the liquor I serve is good quality.  Why are you so interested in this?” Oliver asked, looking at his sister again.  “You’ve never cared that much about who I dated before.”  

“Before, I was a child,” Thea sniffed.  “And besides, with how she helped me, I knew she was someone different.  She’s not--”  

Thea stopped speaking, but Oliver could fill in the rest of her sentence.  “She’s not Laurel.”  

His sister pressed her lips together, looking guilty.  “Laurel was nice, Ollie.  She was like a big sister to me.  But you never seemed happy with her.”  

To this day, Oliver wasn’t sure what would have happened if Laurel hadn’t died in the car crash.  He didn’t like to think about it.  Not only because Laurel wasn’t here, but because . . . he wouldn’t be the man he was today without losing her and Tommy.  If he thought too much about it, he might be forced to be glad they were gone.  And that wasn’t true at all.  

Taking a breath, Oliver rested a hand on Thea’s shoulder.  “It’s okay, Speedy.  I understand what you’re saying.  Laurel and Tommy will always be a part of me--a part of both of us.  But now, I have someone new in my life.  Someone I’m excited about you getting to know.”  

She gave him a hopeful smile.  “Yeah?  That’s not a load of applesauce?”  

“Nope,” Oliver said with a smile, moving his hand back to the gearshift.  “I’m really happy you and Felicity are going to meet each other today.  And you can thank Felicity for me knowing what ‘applesauce’ means.”  

“It’s about time you got with the modern lingo, brother dear,” Thea said impishly.

“Trust me, you and Felicity agree on that,” Oliver replied, pulling the car into a parking spot outside the restaurant where Felicity was meeting them.  “Here we are.”  

In a flutter of skirts, Thea hopped out of the car, dashing over to take his arm.  “Do I look okay?”

Truthfully, he thought his sister looked adorable.  For once, she looked her age, wearing a sweater and pleated skirt in a shade of green that brought out her eyes.  It was like Thea was trying to make a good impression on Felicity, after their first meeting had been so awkward, and it just confirmed how his sister was the best of the Queens.

“You look perfect, Speedy,” he said, kissing her cheek under the brim of her cloche hat.  

“Please don’t call me that in front of your girlfriend,” Thea begged, taking his arm as they stepped into the restaurant.  “She’s gonna think I’m a kid.”  

“No promises, Speedy,” he said, searching the restaurant for Felicity.  

Beside him, he could hear Thea grumbling, but everything fell away when he made eye contact with Felicity.  It was like everything in the world made sense now.  Especially with how she smiled at him.  Her smiles made his heart feel whole.  

Oliver crossed the room and walked over to Felicity, leaning down to kiss her on the cheek, then quickly kissing her on the mouth.  She kissed him back, but pulled away quickly, her cheeks going pink.  “Oliver,” she whispered, her eyes darting around.  

“What?” he asked, having eyes only for her.

“We’re in public--and your sister is right there, Oliver,” Felicity said, still blushing.  Her cheeks matched her dress, in fact.  

“Don’t mind me, I’m just enjoying taking this all in,” Thea piped up, making Oliver turn and give her a look.

Thea grinned and stepped forward, holding her hand out to Felicity.  “Hello, I’m Thea.  It’s nice to meet you under better circumstances.  Even if it does mean watching my brother kiss you.”  

Now Oliver felt his own face go red, but Felicity just smiled and shook Thea’s hand.  “It’s swell to meet you, Thea, after everything I’ve heard Oliver say about you.”  

“Nothing but good things, I know,” Thea chirped.

“Watch it, Speedy,” Oliver said, quirking an eyebrow.  

“I have wanted to ask about the nickname . . .” Felicity asked, looking at Thea.  “I think it’s great, but I can imagine there’s times you don’t like it.”  

He felt a glow of pleasure as he saw Thea and Felicity begin to talk, as the conversation flowed easily between the two women.  Even when the headwaiter stepped up, ready to lead them to their table, the two of them were still talking.  

Yes, Felicity definitely made his life better.  It seemed like she improved his little sister’s life, too.  

XXX

Outside the door of his office, Verdant was hopping.  It was filled with a cross-section of Starling City, drowning their sorrows or celebrating making it through another week.  Normally, he spent Fridays on the floor.  But tonight . . . well, tonight, he was much too tense to work the floor.  He would be liable to overreact and start a fight, with the way he was filled with a nervous energy he didn’t understand.

There was plenty of paperwork he should be working on, and he did try.  It didn’t exactly hold his interest, though.  So he leaned back in his chair and gazed off into space, trying yet again to determine how he could hold off Malcolm Merlyn.

Maybe the reason he felt so nervous was because after Malcolm’s last hard sell, there had been nothing.  Nothing had gone wrong: no fights that seemed suspicious, no sabotage of his liquor shipments, no threats made towards himself or his family.  

In fact, things were going well.  Friar Tuck was proving to be his best supplier by far, in terms of quality of the hooch and ease of deliveries.  Within two days of sending in requests, they were filled by the mysterious distributor.  There had been no tail-off in the liquor being provided, either.  Thanks to Friar Tuck, Verdant was now truly the best speakeasy in town--the crowds thronging the place every night now, not just on the weekends, proved that.  

The club was making money, there had been no problems from the police, and the new employees he had added to the payroll--thanks to his further knowledge of the reality for Starling City’s poor--were working out well.  

Professionally, things couldn’t be better, even with the looming threat of Malcolm Merlyn.  Oliver had to wonder if Malcolm had backed off because Verdant had established such a name for itself.  It would cause unexpected ripples if the mob made a real play for Oliver’s club.  As far as he could tell, the mobs were working hard to consolidate their power and take over any independent operators.  Most of these places couldn’t withstand the pressure.  

A soft knock drew him out of his thoughts.  “Come in,” he said, expecting it to be Digg or maybe Carly--but hoping it was Felicity.  

Proving the run of luck he was having, Felicity slipped into his office with a sheepish smile.  

“What’s with that smile?” he asked, leaning back in his chair and grinning at her.  

Felicity twisted her fingers in her skirt.  “I know I’m working, but . . . I just really wanted to come see you.”  

“Still worried I’d fire you?” he asked, gazing at her.  “Because what I said before is still true: I’d fire myself before I’d fire you.”  He paused, tilting his head to the side.  “It’s even more true now.”

With a soft laugh, Felicity crossed the room to stand beside his chair, leaning back against his desk.  “No, I’m not worried about that.  I just don’t want to give the impression I’m getting special treatment.  That’s not good for staff morale.”

“Hmmm,” he said softly, reaching out to take her hand, his thumb rubbing against her skin.  “I think most everyone knows you and I are dating.  Has anyone said anything to you?  Anything negative, I mean.”  

Felicity’s eyes looked a bit dreamy behind her glasses.  “Um . . . no . . .”  

Oliver tugged on her hand gently, pulling her closer.  “No one’s said anything to me about being upset,” he said, leaning up towards her.  “So I think everything’s okay, Felicity.” 

“Uh-huh,” she said, closing the distance between them to kiss him.  

His eyes slipped shut as they kissed slowly.  His arms went around her waist, drawing her down into his lap.  Felicity sat with her legs draped over his thighs, her torso leaning against his chest as her hands stroked his shoulders.  Nothing felt so good as her warm body in his arms.  

Slowly, he kissed her, teasing her with his tongue and lips.  His hands stroked her back, marveling at how small she truly was.  Felicity’s personality was so big, her smile so bright even in the darkest places, he often forgot she was a slender woman, with delicate bones and soft skin.  

Well, not that he forgot, really.  Not with the way he was always so hungry to touch her . . . to taste her . . . 

He dragged his lips away from her mouth, greedy to lick and suck on her jaw and neck.  When he began kissing a spot just below her ear, Felicity squirmed on his lap, her hands gripping his shoulders.  “Oliver,” she breathed out, her voice whisper soft.

Something about her voice like that made him want her even more.  This wasn’t how it had been for him before, necking with girls in the rumble seats of cars--he wasn’t after only his own pleasure.  He wanted to make her feel good, too.

“Felicity,” he murmured against her skin, just before he started to suck softly.  

She let out a moan, her fingers twitching against his shoulders.  Then, to his surprise, she ran her fingers down his chest and began unbuttoning his vest.  

Drawing his head back, Oliver looked up at her, taking in her flushed cheeks and dark eyes.  “I need to see you,” she said, her voice firm and without a hint of a tremble.  This was a different Felicity, one who knew what she wanted and was going to get it.  God knew he wasn’t going to stop her.  

Her clever fingers got his vest undone, then popped the top two buttons of his shirt before pausing.  He watched her lick her lips and he nearly groaned.  She looked at him and her soft question made him melt with tenderness.  

“Is this okay?”  

There was no way he was going to stop her.  So Oliver nodded and reached out to stroke her hair.  “Yes.  Any time,” he told her, gazing at her.  

Felicity’s nervous smile grew wider and became cocky.  “Is that so?” she asked, leaning forward and peppering kisses along the line of his jaw.  “You might create a monster.”  

“I don’t care--as long as you’re touching me--” Oliver said, his hands holding her tightly.

“Like this?” she asked, trailing the tips of two fingers over the skin revealed by his unbuttoned shirt.  

Nodding, Oliver leaned in to kiss her neck, using his nose to push aside the collar of her dress.  “Yes.”  

“Oliver,” she breathed out, grabbing his chin and turning his face so she could kiss him.  That was what he loved about her--how willing she was to take control, how she never held back from what she wanted.  It made him think she wanted him as much as he wanted her . . . 

Suddenly, he realized the direction of his thoughts.   _ Loved _ .  What  _ he  _ loved about  _ her _ .  Oliver pulled away, staring up at her and feeling like he had just fought a dozen men.  

Oliver had done his best not to think too much about his feelings for Felicity before they began dating.  He had been so caught up in the thrill of getting to express those feelings that he hadn’t considered the full depth of his emotions. But--but if he already loved Felicity, no wonder she was becoming the brightest light in his life.  No wonder he had already introduced her to Thea, the family member whose opinion he cared about most.  No wonder he just couldn’t satisfy the craving he had for her.  

If he loved her, though . . . he had to stop lying to her.  He had to tell her the truth about his quest to save Starling City.

“Oliver?  What’s wrong?” Felicity asked, still sounding a bit breathless.  She reached out and touched his cheek, her fingers drifting up to stroke his forehead.  “You look like you’re thinking hard about something.”  

“I--I am,” he replied, savoring the soft strokes of her fingertips against his skin.  “I’m sorry, I just suddenly realized something and . . .”

“And you couldn’t think of anything else,” Felicity finished with a soft, dazzling smile.  “I have that happen a lot to me.  I’m not insulted that it happened while we were kissing.” 

He looked down at his rumpled, unkempt clothes, then looked at her, noticing the pinkened skin on her face and neck from his stubble and kisses.  “I think what we were doing was more than just kissing.”  

Ducking her head, Oliver caught her shy little smirk of a smile, and he felt his heart skip a beat.  He really did love her.  

“We could do some ‘more than just kissing’ after work tonight,” Felicity offered in a quiet voice.  

“What?” he asked, his brain feeling sluggish.  

She worked her lower lip with her teeth for a moment, distracting him until she spoke again.  “My mother went to visit her best friend in Seattle.  She’s going to have a baby soon, and my mother always spends the night there.  So . . . so tonight, you wouldn’t just have to drive me home--you could come in.”  

Blinking, Oliver tried to work out what Felicity was suggesting.  It might be simply about the two of them having some extra time together--time that wasn’t stolen when they were at work or in the car.  Even though they had been an official couple for over a month, they still hadn’t enjoyed an actual date.  Something Oliver had wanted to fix, but with Verdant and his work as the Hood, and Felicity’s desire to keep their relationship quiet, there just hadn’t been a good opportunity yet.  

As much as he wanted to take advantage of this opportunity for privacy, as much as he wanted to go farther with Felicity . . . tonight would be the perfect time to tell her the truth.  His body might protest losing the chance to fully explore hers, but his heart wouldn’t let him keep the truth from her any longer.  

“I did have something I wanted to talk to you about,” Oliver said, taking her hand and stroking her palm.  “Something that will take some time to explain.”

Felicity’s forehead crinkled.  “Oh.”  

“It’s not . . . bad,” he said quickly, trying to reassure her.  “It’s about . . . it’s about my past.  And things I feel strongly about, and it’s not something I could tell you in five minutes.”  

“I see,” she answered, not exactly sounding like she did, but Oliver could understand why she was so confused.  

Squeezing her hand, he asked, “I know you’re probably worrying, but I promise you, what I have to tell you, it doesn’t change how I feel about you.”  

She still looked a bit guarded, but Felicity nodded and gave him a small smile.  “Okay, then.”  

“Okay, then,” he echoed, smiling up at her.  He leaned in to kiss her again, but Felicity scooted back from his lips.  

“I should get back to work.  After I repair the damage to my face.”  

“You look beautiful,” Oliver said, the words tumbling from his lips.  

Her cheeks flushed and Felicity quickly hopped off his lap, swaying a little on her feet.  “Oh, no.  No more necking.  Later.”  

“Later,” he agreed, watching her dash out of his office.

Given what he had to tell her, Oliver didn’t know if ‘more than just kissing’ was in their future.  He hoped so, but his past had taught him that hoping didn’t mean getting.  At least he had learned that lesson; when he was a kid, he had never had to hope at all.  Anything he wanted, he got.  Cars, money, a place to throw a party for all his friends . . . 

Felicity wasn’t a car or a party, though.  Just because he wanted her to believe in him, to trust him, didn’t mean she would.  A lot was riding on tonight.

There was no reason to be this gloomy, he told himself as he straightened up in his chair.  Felicity knew him.  She knew he wanted to make the city better, knew that he cared about people.  If he explained it well enough, she would understand what he was doing.  

It would all work out.  

XXX

Oliver waited in the alley beside Verdant.  He had pulled his car deep into the alley, right across from the staff entrance, to wait for Felicity.  

It was well past midnight and the last of the stragglers were still being escorted out of the club by Digg, Roy, and the rest of the male staff.  The waitresses, except for Felicity, had already left for the night; Oliver had escorted the last of them to the streetcar while Felicity was changing.  Any minute now, she would come out of the door, and Oliver couldn’t wait to see her, even if their plans were only talking.    

The heavy door scraped across the ground of the alley as it opened, revealing Felicity in a dress he really liked: a floaty red one that showed off her legs.  She pulled her shawl closer around herself as she dashed over to him.  “It’s colder than I thought!” she said, her teeth chattering a little.  “It was so warm earlier, I didn’t realize my shawl wouldn’t be enough.”

“Here,” he said, sliding off his leather jacket.  “Put this on.”  

“Oliver!  You’ll get too cold--”

“I’m not wearing a pretty but thin dress,” he said with a smile.  He lifted her shawl off her shoulders before wrapping his jacket around her.  “You can put the shawl over your legs in the car.  Hop in.”  

Felicity held his jacket around her, but instead of getting into the car, she gazed up at him.  “You are so sweet, Oliver Queen.”  She stretched up on her tiptoes and kissed him softly.  His eyes fell shut as he savored the kiss.  Something about this kiss felt different.  Like Felicity wanted this one to be special.  

All he wanted was to keep kissing her.  He was mindful of where they were, the nip in the air, and the conversation he wanted to have with her.  That didn’t mean he didn’t keep the kiss going for an extra moment before he pulled away.  “Let’s go,” he said, his voice a bit deeper than normal.

The smile on Felicity’s face was bright and cheerful.  “There’s a cold chicken in the icebox.  We can have a little late night supper.”  

“Sounds--sounds great,” he said.  Which it did.  He just hoped they actually got to enjoy that cold chicken.

Once they were in the car, Felicity began a steady stream of chatter as he drove to the apartment she shared with her mother.  He wasn't able to do much to hold up his end of the conversation, and the closer they got to her place, the more he noticed Felicity's nerves on display.  Her smiles were too wide, her speech too fast.  Even though he was gripped with his own worries about what he had to say to her, Oliver had to reassure her.

Lifting his hand off the steering wheel, he wrapped his fingers around hers.  “I'm nervous,” he admitted.

“You are?” Felicity asked, the surprise evident.

He nodded.  “It's been a long time since I felt like this.”  He paused and glanced at her, taking in her flushed cheeks and the sparkle of her eyes behind her glasses.  “I actually--I've never felt like this before.”

Felicity's fingers squeezed his.  “Me, too,” she said softly.  “It makes everything feel more important.”

“Yes,” he breathed out.  “That's it, exactly.”

Pulling the car to the curb outside her apartment, Oliver parked the car and then looked at Felicity.  She was nibbling on her lower lip, staring off into space.

“Felicity, I don't expect us to--I mean, when you invited me over, you might not have realized what it could mean--but if you're having second thoughts--”

“I'm not,” she said, interrupting his stuttering attempt to let her off the hook.  “I just--the apartment is really small.  It's not like the kind of house you grew up in.”

Oliver leaned over and kissed her cheek.  “Any place you live is special, Felicity.”

She let out a sigh, then smiled at him.  “Come on,” she told him, tugging on his hand.

Nodding, Oliver let go of her hand and got out of the car.  Felicity was too independent--and usually in too much of a rush--to let him open the car door for her.  As soon as she had stepped around the car, he took her hand again.

They walked to her building, their steps slow.  It was late enough there were no prying eyes watching them.  Still, Felicity fumbled with the key in the lock, taking an extra minute to open the door.

“Well, this is it,” she said, leading him into a small parlor and turning on a floor lamp, filling the room with a soft golden glow.  There were two windows that looked out onto the street, with a table holding a radio between the windows.  Across from the window was an overstuffed, slightly threadbare sofa.  Two straight-backed chairs and a bookcase filled with books and knick-knacks were the only other objects in the room.

“I can just imagine you sitting here, reading,” Oliver said, looking at the couch.  Turning his head to look at her, he gave her a small smile.

“It's very comfortable,” Felicity said softly, her eyes holding his.  Then she let her clutch drop to the floor, his jacket joining it, and she closed the distance between them.

Oliver let her push him down on the couch because . . . because he wanted to find out for himself if it was that comfortable.  At least, that was all he was willing to admit right now.

For a few endless moments, he let Felicity kiss him as he held her in his arms.  When she started fiddling with his vest buttons, Oliver lifted her hand from his chest.  “Wait, wait--”

“Oliver?”  Felicity sounded dazed, her eyes soft and unfocused.

“Remember what I said earlier?  About having something to talk to you about?” Oliver asked, stroking her cheek.

It took a moment, but then comprehension appeared in her eyes--and worry.

“All--all right,” Felicity said, moving to sit beside him on the couch.

He took her hand, holding it loosely.  Now that it was time for him to talk, he was realizing just how much he had to tell her.  Taking a breath, he decided to start at the beginning.  “Two and a half years ago, my best friend and the girl I had been seeing . . . they died.  In a car accident.”

Felicity nodded, moving a bit closer to him.  “Yes, I’ve heard a little about that.”

“Right,” he acknowledged.  “Well, after that, I left town.  Made my way to China, worked for a wage for the first time in my life . . . It opened my eyes.”

Her thumb was stroking over the back of his hand, soothing him.  Yet he knew the worst was still to come--because explaining what he spent his nights doing was going to be much more difficult.  He wasn't quite ready to start explaining why he had become the Hood.

“I . . . I realized how lucky I had been,” he said softly, watching her thumb on his hand.  “How luck allowed me have so many advantages--advantages I had never been grateful for.”

“Everyone has moments like that,” Felicity told him, making his eyes connect with hers.  “When I came back to Starling City, I wasn't excited to live with my mother again.  But then I figured out I was lucky to have a mother who loved me so much.  Because before, I . . . I held things against her I shouldn’t have, because she wasn’t like me, you understand?” 

At his nod, Felicity continued.  “Then I realized that her love for me was so much bigger than I could have known, because even though she doesn't understand me, she still loves me.  That made me take a look at myself and not really like what I saw--it made me want to be a better person.”  

“Yes,” Oliver said, grasping her hand tightly.  “The same thing happened to me.”  

She gave him a gentle smile and leaned in to kiss his cheek.  “You are a good man.  You might have had a spoiled upbringing, but you’ve moved past it.”  

“I’m trying to,” he admitted, gazing at her.  “I still have a ways to go.”  He swallowed.  “That’s why I’ve kept something from you.  A secret I’ve been keeping from nearly everyone.”

Her brows furrowed.  “A secret?”

This was it.  He swallowed, trying to work some moisture into his suddenly-dry mouth.  “Yes.  I--It wasn’t enough for me to just donate money to causes.  Or hire people off the street to work in Verdant.  I . . . I needed to do more.”

Felicity stayed quiet, clearly sensing he wasn’t done yet.  Oliver took a deep breath.  “Every night, after I drop you off?  I go through the Glades to do what I can to fight crime.  I stop robberies or attacks.  I help people who have passed out from bad booze.  I’m trying to keep the mob from totally taking over Starling City.”  

Hearing the words, Oliver couldn’t help thinking he sounded crazy.  No, he knew he was crazy.  He couldn't stop, though.  Not when one of his father's oldest friends was in charge of the mob.  Not when the father of his dead best friend was destroying Starling City.

Behind her glasses, Felicity's eyes were wide.  She stared at him, then said, “What?”

“I'm . . . The Hood,” Oliver said, the words feeling strange in his mouth.  Felicity was only the second person to know the truth about him.  And it felt good to tell someone.  Even if he didn't know how Felicity was going to react.

“I knew it!”

Oliver stared at her.  “What?”

“Not that I  _ knew it _ knew it, but . . . but I knew there was something different about you lately!” Felicity said, smiling brightly.  “And I was right, you're a hero!”

His cheeks flushed even as he tried to catch up with her.  “You're not mad?  About me keeping this from you?”

She shook her head.  “No, of course not, because you couldn't tell anyone about this.  It's just like in  _ The Scarlet Pimpernel _ \--a secret identity gives you the freedom to really help people.”

Well, this was . . . unexpected.  He didn't know what a scarlet pimpernel was, and he was still surprised that Felicity wasn't mad, but he hadn't realized how much he had hoped she would accept this.  That she would understand.  Not even Digg had been so immediately in favor of his plans--his friend and employee had come around, of course, but at the start, he had thought Oliver was crazy.  Felicity didn’t think he was crazy, though.  

She thought he was a hero.  

“Oh, Oliver, I'm so impressed,” she said, shifting back into his lap and wrapping her arms around his neck.  “And proud.  Because you're actually doing something--something real.”

As she leaned in to kiss him, Oliver met her more than halfway.  He was desperate to find some way to express what he was feeling, because it was just so dazzling and overwhelming.  She was proud of him.   _ Him _ , Oliver Queen, a giant screw-up who had never even gone to college, was someone who impressed the brilliant, kind, amazing Felicity Smoak.

Their kiss outside of Verdant earlier tonight had felt different.  So did this one.  It was the hottest kiss Oliver had ever shared with anyone.  Giving in to his desires, he parted his lips, brushing his tongue against Felicity's.  She gasped and he took advantage to slide his tongue into her mouth, to taste her in a way he hadn't before.  Felicity just melted in his arms, her fingers sliding into his hair and holding him in place.

Like he wanted to go anywhere.  Like he ever wanted to leave her, the woman he loved . . .

“Felicity,” he groaned, pausing to breathe.  He looked up at her, at her pink cheeks and sparkling eyes, and he could feel himself fall even more in love with her.

Best of all, she smiled at him, shyly and happily, before she reached for his hand.  “Oliver,” she whispered, bringing his hand up to cover her breast.

Through the thin material of her dress, he could feel how warm she was.  Could feel her nipple pebble against his palm.  He felt his control begin to weaken even more as he gently rubbed her flesh.  Her reaction was amazing: her eyelids fluttered before falling shut, then her head fell back on a soft moan.

He kept touching her, but the long column of her throat was too tempting.  Oliver brought his lips to the side of her neck, kissing and licking as he squeezed and fondled her perfect breast.  When he lifted his other hand to massage both of her breasts, it was like a dam had burst in her.

She started talking.

“Ooh, Oliver . . . yes . . . don't stop . . . this is all I want . . . you and me . . . working together . . . every night . . . the Hood and his sidekick . . . and then we have this . . . partners in everything . . . oh, yes . . . ”

With everything he was feeling, particularly in his pants, it wasn't surprising that it took him a little time to figure out what was bothering him about her words. 

Partners in everything?  The Hood and his sidekick?  Did--did Felicity want to assist him in the field?

Taking a breath, he lifted his face from her neck and shifted his hands away from her very distracting breasts.  Felicity looked at him and pouted, her lower lip jutting out in a way that made him want to ignore all his questions in favor of kissing her again.

“Why'd you stop?” she asked, her fingers stroking his scalp as she have him an affectionate smile.  “I'm sure, Oliver--”

“No, um, that's not why I stopped,” Oliver replied.  “What exactly did you mean by ‘partners in everything’?”

Her smile changed to a frown.  “I'm going to help you, of course.”

“Help me?” he echoed, not entirely sure he had heard her correctly.  

“Isn’t that why you told me about this?” Felicity asked, shifting on his lap.  “So I could help?  Like I’m helping with the liquor tests at Verdant?”  

“No!” Oliver said, feeling aghast at the suggestion.  “That’s crazy, Felicity!”

She stiffened in his lap.  “Crazy?  How is that crazy?”  

“It’s crazy because you don’t know how to do anything that could help with this,” he insisted.  “You don’t know how to do the things I do--use a gun or a bow, throw punches, question someone--.”  

“No, it’s because I’m a woman,” Felicity argued.  “You think I’m some delicate flower to be protected.  But you’re wrong!  I can take care of myself.”  

“Against drunks at Verdant, yes, maybe,” Oliver said, leaving out the fact that at the club, she had the backup of Digg and the other bouncers, not to mention him.  “But out in the Glades, with the rough element there?  You can’t outthink these guys, Felicity--”

Placing her hands on his chest, Felicity pushed away from him and up onto her feet.  Her cheeks were flushed and her eyes snapped with anger.  “I disagree!  I could outthink any of the meatheads in an organized crime ring!  Especially since they’re likely to totally disregard a woman.”  

“Trust me, there’s no way anyone could disregard you,” Oliver said, rising to his feet.  “Felicity, you’ve been a big part of Verdant’s success, but behind the scenes.  Where it isn’t so dangerous--where the worst thing that could happen to you would be getting arrested.”  

“Oh, and that’s not so bad, huh?  Maybe not for you, Mr. Millionaire, but if I got arrested, my life would be over!” Felicity said, stomping her foot.  “When I agreed to help you, I did it knowing I was risking everything, but I did it because I believed in you.  Just like I believe in you trying to save Starling City.  So why can’t I help you with this?”

“Felicity . . .” he said, pressing the heels of his hands against his eyes. 

Her soft hands wrapped around his wrists and pulled his hands away, her eyes meeting his as her fingers laced through his.  “Oliver,” she said softly, gazing up at him.  “I want to help you.  The day I came home, I looked around at my hometown and wondered what had happened here--why everything looked run down, why people seemed so sad and downtrodden.  And then I met you, and you were doing and saying things that made me believe it was possible for one person to make a difference.  And you inspired me.  You inspired me to do the same thing.”  

Oliver felt his heart beat harder.  He didn’t think he had been doing anything special, not really--yet that had been enough for Felicity to be impressed.  To want to follow his lead.  Now that she wanted to do more--she wanted to tangle with mobsters and criminals.  The thought of her being exposed to that kind of crowd made his blood run cold.   

“Let me help you, Oliver,” Felicity asked, beseeching him.  “Please.”  

How much did he want to say yes?  How much did he want her help?  A lot.  She had inspired him to become a better man, to become a man who could save Starling City.  He wouldn’t have been able to do it without Digg’s training and Felicity’s inspiration.  How much more could he do with Felicity’s support, encouraging him and being that light in the darkness?  

How could he put the woman he love in such a position, though?  If anyone knew the Hood had a woman he cared about, it would put a target over Felicity.  What if they were in the middle of a dangerous situation and he wasn’t able to protect her?  He would never forgive himself if Felicity got hurt because of him.  He understood why she wanted to help, but her arguments to the contrary, there was no way she could step into a room full of mobsters and not be noticed by them.  She was a beautiful, charming woman--one who was kind and smart, not a fighter like he was.  

He shook his head slightly, then more emphatically.  “I can’t, Felicity.  There’s other ways you can help than going toe-to-toe with organized crime.”  

Her hands fell from his and she took a step back from him, then another.  Her lips pressed together, the hurt plainly visible on her face.  She kept her chin lifted, kept her eyes on his, as she spoke.  “Please leave.”  

“Felicity, please, we can talk about this--”

“There’s nothing to talk about.  Not now,” she said, sounding as remote as a snow-capped mountain range.

This wasn’t about this argument, he sensed.  This was about . . . everything.  “Felicity,” he breathed out, staring at her.

“Go, Oliver.”  Her voice was so firm and determined--no wavering, no trembling.  No signs that she was anything but certain in her decision.  

There was nothing he could do.  So with his heart sinking, Oliver did as Felicity asked.

He left.

End, Chapter 6

  
  
  
  
  



	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to everyone for the great response to the last chapter! Even if it was mostly “Whyyyyyyy????? Noooooo!!!!” But I think most of y’all saw the breakup coming. I hope the next few chapters help explain why the breakup happened, and show both Oliver and Felicity learning what they need in order to be better partners to each other. First up: Felicity!

 

“Oh, baby girl.” 

At the sound of her mother’s voice, Felicity groaned and rolled over in bed, drawing the covers over her head.  

There were rustling noises and the sound of a clucking tongue, before Donna pulled the bedclothes away from her face.  Felicity squinted in the bright sunlight; her mother had opened the curtains while Felicity had been hiding under her covers.  

“Mom, what are you doing?” she croaked, pushing herself up onto her elbows.

“I’m trying to find my daughter.  Felicity Megan Smoak: beautiful, smart, determined?  Sound familiar?” Donna asked as she began tidying the room.  

“Mom,” Felicity groaned again, turning away from her mother.  “Just leave me alone.”

There was a long enough silence, Felicity hoped her mother had decided to leave.  Then Donna pulled the covers back again--in fact, she drew them off the bed entirely, leaving Felicity shivering in her pajamas.  

“You are going to get up and take a bath, because you have been locked up in here for a week,” Donna said firmly.  “Then, you’re going to eat breakfast and you’re going to tell me what happened--with your job, with Oliver, with whatever has gotten you acting like this.  Because this isn’t you, Felicity, and I’m worried.”

Frowning, Felicity looked at her mother and knew it was true.  Donna was worried, and she wasn't going to let Felicity keep wallowing in this room.

Besides . . . Felicity didn't want to keep wallowing.  She had to accept a chapter of her life was over and it was time to figure out what her next chapter would hold.

A chapter without a job.  Without Oliver.

It was all she could do to hold back her tears.  At misjudging Oliver, at being rejected, at losing his presence from so many corners of her heart and mind.

“Come along, Felicity,” her mother said gently, pulling her out of bed and shepherding Felicity into the bathroom.  “A nice warm bath is just what you need to start feeling better.”

After her bath, she wasn't sure if she felt better, but she definitely smelled better.  Wrapped in a heavy robe, Felicity shuffled into the kitchen.

“Sit down, your breakfast will be ready in a minute,” Donna said, setting a cup of coffee down in Felicity's place.  Under her apron, her mother was already wearing the smart black dress she wore to work.

“You didn't have to make me breakfast,” Felicity said softly.  “What about work?”

“I'm not due in until eleven, and Margie is going to cover for me if I'm late.  Mr. Stevens is sweet on her so she can get away with murder,” Donna said.  “Besides, making breakfast for my only daughter is very important today.”

Pulling her robe closer around herself, Felicity sipped her coffee.  Her mother's generosity and kindness was just too much--she didn't feel like she deserved it.  It made her think of that night with Oliver, when she had told him about learning to respect her mother and being thankful for having a loving parent.  Telling Oliver she understood what it was like to realize your advantages and be embarrassed for not seeing them sooner.  The way he had looked at her after she finished speaking . . .

The tears threatened again and Felicity took a large swallow of coffee, the still-hot beverage scalding her tongue.  Giving her an explanation for the tears in her eyes.

“Here we go,” Donna said, sliding a plate in front of Felicity.  Soft-boiled eggs, toast, and bacon: the one breakfast Donna knew how to make, the one she had taught Felicity to cook.  Soft-boiled eggs were elegant, but women and men needed meat at breakfast.  “If a man expects you to give him all the bacon, he's not worth you or the bacon,” Donna would tell Felicity.

With what she hoped was an inaudible sniff, Felicity picked up her knife and fork.  “Thank you, Mom.  It smells delicious.”

It was true: now that she was smelling the food, Felicity felt hungry for the first time in days.

Her mother smiled, looking pleased.  “Dig in.”

For the next few minutes, the only noise was the crunch of toast being eaten, the clink of silverware against plates, and the sipping of coffee.  As she ate, Felicity began to feel a little stronger.  Her emotions started feeling more balanced, less overwhelming.

Soon, all that was left on her plate was a crust of toast.  Leaning back in her chair, she let out a soft sigh and patted her stomach.  “That was just what I needed.”

Donna nodded, lifting her coffee cup.  “Bath and breakfast: the first steps to recovering from a broken heart.”  She looked at Felicity over the rim of her cup.

Shifting in her chair, Felicity played with the last bit of toast.  “So you could tell?”

“Baby girl,” Donna said, lowering her cup.  “If I didn't recognize the signs of heartbreak in my daughter, when they're the same for me, I wouldn't be much of a mother.”

“I've never seen you act like this,” Felicity replied softly.

“The only time I really had my heart broken, I also had a nine-year-old depending on me,” Donna said.  “After a few days, I had to get up.  Find a job, an apartment.  Because you had lost your father when he left--you couldn't lose your mother, too.”

Felicity swallowed.  She reached out to take Donna's hand and gave it a tight squeeze.  “You were always there.  And I didn't always realize that, didn't appreciate you, and I'm so sorry, Mom--”

“It's okay,” Donna said with a soft smile and an equally-strong squeeze for Felicity's hand.  “I understood.”

Pressing her lips together, Felicity nodded.  “Thank you.”

“Enough about ancient history,” Donna said.  “What happened?  One minute, you were walking around like you've found eternal love, and the next, you're sad and you're getting Caitlin to take your uniforms back to Verdant.  Oliver didn't break up with you  _ and _ fire you, did he?  From your stories, I thought he was smarter than that.”

Her heart contracted at her mother's reference to being fired, because it reminded Felicity of her inside joke with Oliver.  She drew her hand away from Donna's and stood up, moving to pour herself another cup of coffee.  “No, I quit.  Actually, I, um, I broke up with him.”

“Why?” Donna asked, sounding aghast.

“Because he made it clear that to him, I'm just something to be protected.  Not someone to discuss things with as a partner,” Felicity said, feeling a spike of anger.  “He acted like he thought I was an equal, then he changed his mind.”

“Felicity,” Donna sighed, “even the most open-minded man would have problems treating the girl they loved as an equal.  Not in everything.”

A shiver went down her spine at the thought that Oliver might love her, but Felicity did her best to ignore that for now.  The important matter was how he had treated her like a person. Not some damsel.  Not until she told him she wanted to help him with his quest.  The moment she had found out he was the mysterious Hood, it had all become clear.  She should help him.  It wasn't just because she cared about him, either, although that did play a big part.  There were all the times she had heard him speak up about injustice, hearing him talk about the friends whose memory he wanted to honor, everything he had done to protect the people who walked into Verdant . . . He had inspired her.  Inspired her to think about others in a new way, to think about herself differently.

This wasn't something she could explain to her mother, though.  It wasn't her secret to tell, and besides, it just hurt to think about Oliver, let alone talk about him.

“I just can't accept him treating me like I'm some hothouse bloom, Mom,” Felicity said finally.  “Women have come so far.  Have fought so hard to have rights like being able to vote--you know, you’ve told me a hundred times how you worked for suffrage.  If I let Oliver do this to me, it would be like I was betraying everything you and all those other brave women had fought for.  You probably think it's foolish of me, I know.”

“I don’t understand it, since you acted like the sun rose and set on Oliver,” Donna pointed out.  “And you wouldn’t be letting down anyone by choosing a life with Oliver.  But if that’s how you feel, of course you did the right thing.”  She took Felicity’s hand and squeezed it.  “All I care about is your happiness.  Sometimes, to get to that happy place, you end up hurting for a while.”

Nodding, Felicity returned Donna’s squeeze.  “Thank you, Mom.”  

Donna stood up and kissed the top of Felicity’s hair.  “I should get going.  Try to get out of the house, all right?  Take a walk, go see Caitlin--or do the shopping, if you feel up to it.”  

“I will,” Felicity replied, smiling at Donna.  The smile faded as soon as Donna left, however.  Maybe her mother was right and she shouldn't have broken up with Oliver.  Maybe she had been too hasty.  After all, how was she going to prove to him she was capable of more, capable of helping him, if they weren't dating and she didn't work at Verdant? 

She missed him.  She really, really missed him.  Not just the things she expected, like his smile or his kindness.  No, she even missed his sad silences, the moments he seemed a million miles away.  She missed how she could bring him back from that lonely place he went to in his head.  At least, she knew she had helped him a little.  Without her, was Oliver lost in his sadness?  Was he being careful?  Did he miss her, too? 

With a sigh, Felicity stood up.  She looked at the breakfast dishes, knowing she should wash them.  Knowing she should start figuring out where she was going to look for a new job.  Yet the walls felt like they were closing in on her. 

Ignoring the dirty plates, Felicity went to her bedroom and got dressed.  She pulled on her plaid coat and tugged a cloche hat on, ignoring her still-damp hair.  She stepped out the door and didn't look back.  She wouldn't go home until she had figured out what she was going to do next.  

But first, she just wanted to forget everything for a little while. 

XXX

Taking a few deep breaths, Felicity drew in clean, fresh air, filling her lungs.  With broad strides, she walked down the street, stretching her legs.  Her mother had been right: it felt good to ankle, to be out in the world.  It made her feel ready to think about what came next.

She needed to find a job, of course.  Her savings from Verdant wouldn’t last forever, and besides, she had never been the kind to sit around and do nothing.  Felicity wasn't sure if she wanted just any job, though.  Otherwise, she could go with her mother to Bonner and Teller’s and start working there.  No, she wanted more than that.

Her job at Verdant, although it was just waiting tables, had felt important.  Like she was making a difference, even if it only made someone's day a little bit better.  Then once she had started testing the liquor . . . well, she knew that mattered.

That feeling of mattering, of making Starling City better--that was what she wanted in a new job.  In fact, she wanted to do even more.

The autumn air was cool, even at midday.  Felicity tugged her coat closer around herself as Oliver's words rang in her ears.  He thought it was too dangerous for her--well, maybe he was right.  The Glades were a dangerous place, she knew.  Between the mobsters and the scores of desperate people, it wasn’t someplace that “good” people went any more.  Verdant had started to change that, but crime was still high in the area.  

Yet Oliver hadn’t tried to explain, hadn’t given her any real information to prove his point.  Yes, she had read the papers, about the crimes that went on in the Glades--but there was the Hood protecting the people.  Oliver protecting people.  He was changing things, making Starling City better.    

If it was too dangerous for her, didn't it mean it was too dangerous for Oliver, too?

A chill went down her spine in spite of her warm coat.  Maybe she shouldn’t have left . . . maybe she should have stayed.  So she could have kept an eye on him, make sure he was all right.  How was he managing out there, all on his own?  

That was why she wanted to help him be the Hood.  How could she let him carry this burden all by himself?  She knew he said it was about the friends he had lost, but she thought it was more than that.  Why would Oliver do something so big otherwise?  If this was just about his friends, he would have done something less flamboyant, less extraordinary.  Like starting a scholarship fund or naming a building after them.

No, he had to do something so completely over-the-top and special and different.  Had to wade right into the middle of such danger, not caring about what might happen to him . . . 

Shaking her head, Felicity turned down the street to the local market.  Her feelings were so messy and tangled, like two balls of yarn that had gotten knotted up in a bag.  Guilt and concern for Oliver, frustration and annoyance at him, disappointment and worry for herself . . .  it was just too much for one person to feel.  Yet she had to untangle this knot of emotions and think logically.   

Oliver was so stubborn.  So convinced he was right, he wouldn't even entertain a discussion.  Well, she was stubborn, too.  And just like Oliver, she wanted to help her city.

There was trash in the streets.  Most of the times that she went to Mr. Cohan’s market, the shelves would be empty because the delivery truck had been robbed.  Felicity had heard stories, in the staff room at Verdant and from her mother, about a rise in muggings, beatings and forced seductions.  There were even people getting bumped off, making everyone look over their shoulders and lock their doors at night.  Many of those crimes weren't being reported in the Starling City papers, either.

Organized crime was growing more and more powerful in Starling City.  The police wouldn’t stop them, the politicians were in the pocket of the mobsters, and that left ordinary people to suffer.  

If the police and the government wasn't going to fix this, it was up to everyday people to do what they could.  That was what Oliver was doing--why couldn't she?  Why couldn’t she find a way to help?

Just like that, a plan began forming in Felicity's mind.  One that would test her mettle and yes, would be dangerous.   I t would be worth it if she could make a difference, though--and maybe then--

Felicity swallowed as she admitted to herself the truth.  That part of her plan was about proving to Oliver she could handle herself.  That she was his equal.  Of course she couldn't fight her way out of trouble with her fists--but she could use her mind and her mouth.  Felicity would put money on her brain being worth just as much as Oliver's fists.

Glancing at her watch, she saw there were several hours before her mother would be home from work.  There was plenty of time for the first step.

Although Starling City had changed in the two years she had been gone, she had been home six months now.  She knew where most of the other speakeasies in town were and who was in charge--officially and unofficially.

With her chin held high and butterflies in her stomach, she walked towards the Round Table, the only speakeasy that could rival Verdant.  A speakeasy owned by Malcolm Merlyn.

The wooden door to the place was battered and pitted, like it had seen a lot of people pounding on it.  Raising her fist, she knocked loudly, wincing at the pain in her knuckles as she kept knocking.  Finally, the door was yanked open.

“We're closed, so beat it!” 

The man at the door was scrawny and made her think of a rat, with his twitching nose and beady eyes.  He didn’t wait for her to say anything, only started to close the door.  Felicity moved quickly and jammed her body between the door and the frame.  The man smirked a little, continuing to close the door.  So Felicity blurted out her ace in the hole.  

“I used to work at Verdant and I need a job!”  

The bouncer didn’t keep closing the door, but he didn’t open it, either.  “What was that?”

“I used to work at Verdant, but they just fired me and gave my job to the boss’s sister,” Felicity improvised.  “I need a job--and I bet your boss is gonna want the info I got.  He’s gotta have a beef with Verdant, too..”  

She winced internally about the bad grammar, but it would make her more likely to fit in, she knew--and it would sell her story.  Felicity peered around the edge of the door at the man, waiting breathlessly for his decision.  That wasn’t too far from being untrue--he was still holding the door in place, leaving her squeezed into the sliver of space from the barely-opened door.  

Finally, he relented and stepped back, opening the door.  “C’mon in,” he said, closing the door as soon as she was inside.  “Lemme go talk to the boss.  Don’t move any.”  

Nodding in agreement, Felicity pasted on a smile.  The man eyed her, then shook his head and turned on his heel, leaving her alone.

With relief, Felicity unbuttoned her coat and smoothed down her dress before she looked around the foyer.  It wasn’t much to look at: dingy white walls, dusty and dirty wooden floors, and not a stick of furniture.  There was an overhead electrical fixture, but it wasn’t properly installed and was hanging half out of the ceiling, wires exposed.  Other than the light, the only thing to notice were the three doors: two in front of her and one on her left.  The bouncer or doorman or whomever he was, he had gone through one of the doors before her.

Felicity could feel her curiosity tugging at her.  She was reaching a hand out to the door on her left, ready to see if it was locked, when the door ahead of her opened.  Yanking her hand back, Felicity faced the man who walked through the door.  

A man she recognized.  Not just from seeing him in the newspapers, but from the night she had seen him in Oliver’s office:  Malcolm Merlyn.

“This is her, boss,” the rat-faced man said, stepping out from behind Mr. Merlyn.  

“Thank you, Sebastian,” Mr. Merlyn said, his voice rich and smooth.  “Get back to your duties.  Miss, I understand you’re looking for a job after being dismissed from Verdant.”

“I am,” Felicity said, knowing her smile looked nervous and anxious.  Which was good, because it would be convincing.  Since she actually was nervous and anxious.

For a long moment, he inspected her.  Felicity wanted to fidget, like playing with her coat buttons or adjusting her glasses, but she made herself stand very still.  Finally, he nodded.  “Then let’s step into my office,” Mr. Merlyn said, opening the door wider.  

“Thank you,” she said, stepping in before him and then taking a seat in the chair placed before a tidy desk, one that looked like it belonged in a bank, right down to the lamp with the green glass shade.  

This room was nicer than the foyer was.  The walls were paneled and a few overstuffed chairs were scattered around the edges of the room.  Mr. Merlyn’s desk took up most of the space.

“So, Miss . . . ?” Mr. Merlyn asked as he sat down at his desk, his brown eyes dark and expressionless.

“Smoak,” she replied, clasping her hands in her lap.  “Felicity Smoak.”  

He nodded slowly.  “You worked at Verdant, until you got fired so your boss’s sister could be hired.  You’re talking about Thea Queen?”  

“Uh-huh,” she said, keeping up her act of a less-educated woman.  “And it ain’t fair.”  

“Perhaps,” Mr. Merlyn said.  “But I have a hard time believing your story, since Thea Queen is all of fifteen, and her brother isn’t about to let her work in his club.”  

Felicity leaned back in her chair, affecting an ease she didn’t feel.  “I don’t know nothing about that,” she told him with a shrug.  “All I know is, that’s what I was told.  So just like that, I was out on my ear,” she said, snapping her fingers for emphasis.  

“Hmmm,” Mr. Merlyn said, leaning back in his chair and steepling his gloved hands.  He probably was trying to look thoughtful and intellectual, but Felicity thought he looked more like a villain in a nickelodeon melodrama.  “So why are you here, Miss Smoak?”

“I want a job,” she told him, straightening up a bit in her chair.  “I’m a crackerjack waitress and I always made good tips ‘cause I kept the customers happy.  Plus, I know a lot about Verdant.  If you wanna steal their ideas, I’m your girl.  Not--not your  _ girl  _ girl, I’m just--”  She pressed her lips together, trying to hold back her babbling.  

This wasn’t going to work.  He must see right through her, he had to be thinking this seemed fishy--

“You are in luck, Miss Smoak, because we had to let go a waitress just last night.  Normally, we have a line of girls around the block when we need to fill a position, but you . . . you intrigue me.  So congratulations, you’re hired.” 

Letting out a huge sigh of relief, Felicity jumped to her feet.  “Thanks, Mr. Merlyn,” she said, holding her hand out to him.  “I won’t let you down, I promise.”

He arched an eyebrow as he took her hand.  Felicity vigorously pumped it, even as she felt slightly unsettled by how large and meaty his hand was, how slick the leather of his gloves was, before letting it go.  “When do I start?” she asked quickly, pressing her palm against her skirt, which was as close as she could get to rubbing her hand against the fabric.

“Tonight.  Get a uniform from Sebastian before you leave.  Come to the door precisely at five--if you’re not here then, don’t come at all.  The password is ‘Avalon’,” Mr. Merlyn told her briskly, picking up some papers.  

It was a clear dismissal, so Felicity did a little bobbing curtsey and then dashed out of the room.  The rat man leered at her as he handed her a uniform, but Felicity ignored it in favor of getting out. 

A flicker of doubt went through her, but Felicity squared her shoulders.  She could do this.  She had to, if she wanted to help Oliver.  

She would learn all she found about the mob and then give that information to Oliver.  She would be a double agent and help him save Starling City. 

Then maybe he would see her as she saw herself:  as a woman who could stand by his side.  In every way. 

XXX

“All right, Blondie, get those out to table twelve--make it snappy, make it snappy!”

Biting back her first instinct, which was to say her name was Felicity, not Blondie, she hoisted up the tray of drinks.  It wouldn't do any good to correct Sebastian.  He was well-aware of her name, but he didn't care enough to use it.  Especially since the night she had popped him in the nose due to his wandering hands. 

Inside the Round Table, the mismatched, rickety tables were packed together closely, which made delivering orders a challenge.  After two weeks, she had learned how to navigate through the maze without disaster befalling her. 

The Round Table wasn't known for its ambiance.  The low ceilings, the few working lamps with their grimy shades, the battered furnishings, the thick cloud of cigarette smoke hanging in the air . . . it was a far cry from Verdant, which was always so clean and gleaming.

Taking as deep a breath as she could without coughing, Felicity focused on serving the patrons at table twelve.  For her trouble, she got a penny tip and a pinch to her bottom.  Keeping her smile in place, she got away from that table quickly, moving to check on her other customers. 

They were all of a similar type: broad-shouldered, barrel-chested men, usually with dark hair they kept slicked back with brilliantine.  They spoke in low voices, their eyes darting around to see if anyone was listening in.  On the rare occasions a woman was with them as a date, the men seemed to speak in coded phrases and nods of the head. 

Even with their precautions, though, the men didn't seem to care if a waitress overheard anything.  The customers thought she would keep her mouth shut, since everyone knew that this place was a mob front.  Including the police officers she had seen getting free drinks at the bar.  The Round Table was just full of open secrets that no one was talking about.

For Felicity, keeping quiet was a difficult task.  There were so many nights already, in these last two weeks, when she had gone home with her head hanging low and her shoulders bowed.  Not from the work, but from the secrets.  She wanted to tell her mother or Caitlin, just so that someone else would know.  She wanted to tell the police, because they were supposed to fight crime. 

And she wanted to tell Oliver, because she knew he was fighting crime.  Just like the rest of the city was realizing--although of course, they only knew it was the Hood stepping in to save the city.  They didn’t know who was under the hood.  

Starling City’s daily newspapers were finally beginning to talk report on the man everyone was beginning to talk about, about the man the papers had started reporting on him.  A man everyone called the Hood, because they didn't know his name. 

Felicity knew, though.  She bought every paper so she could follow Oliver’s progress, so she could get a glimpse of what he was doing.  Reading about Oliver’s exploits, knowing that the papers only knew a fraction of what he must be doing, made her feel a wave of pride in Oliver . . . as well as a slight resentment that Oliver hadn’t wanted her help.  

Soon, though--soon he would know how much he needed her help.  In just two weeks, she had gained quite a few interesting tidbits: pieces of information that were bound to be helpful in his quest.  Not enough for her to go to Oliver, but they were adding up.  Really, it was only a matter of time before someone would let slip something juicy--then she would be on her way back to Verdant so fast, it would be like her dress was on fire.  

For a moment, she imagined how it might go.  Stepping into Verdant and seeing Oliver behind the bar, looking sad and lonely.  Then he would see her, and straighten up, his mouth falling open slightly and his eyes going wide.  Once she took one step towards him, Oliver would leap over the bar and walk to her, wrapping her in his arms and never letting her go . . . 

“Blondie!  Table nine is thirsty!”

Jumping, Felicity bobbled her tray, somehow managing to not drop it.  “Yes, Sebastian,” she said quickly, moving towards table nine, which was tucked away in a dark corner.  Not that there were any bright corners, or bright spots period, inside the Round Table.

As she approached, she had a hard time holding on to her pleasant smile.  Not when the two men at table nine gave her the heebie-jeebies.  

One was small and dark with lazy eyes, holding his cigarette in tobacco-stained fingers.  The other man was as fat as the other man was slight, dressed in a white linen suit.  Which was a bit odd, since most men didn’t wear white linen suits in November.  They were talking in low voices, but just before she got close enough to really hear them, she could have sworn the small man said “Verdant.”  

Gripping her tray tightly, Felicity stepped up to the table.  “Good evening and welcome to the Round Table.  What can I get you?”

“We’ll each take a whisky,” the fat man said, in a voice that sounded like caramels.  

“And bring one for yourself if you’d like to join us, baby,” the thin man added, his dark eyes running up and down Felicity.  

“I’m sorry, I can’t drink with customers,” she said, doing her best to make her smile bigger and brighter, to make it appear she was actually sorry she couldn’t join them.  “I’ll get those whiskies right away.”  

A grip like iron latched around her wrist.  “If you knew who I was, you’d have a drink with me,” the dark man said, pulling on her arm.  For such a small man, he had a lot of strength.  Felicity pressed her lips together and couldn’t help glancing over her shoulder towards Sebastian.  He was watching--but from his pleased, self-satisfied expression, Felicity knew she was on her own.  

A fact which made her tremble in her pumps.  

She had to come up with some way to get out of this, because the last thing she wanted to do was drink with this man.  Wracking her brain, Felicity searched for something that might persuade the man to let her go, even as he pulled her closer.  

Suddenly, Felicity felt the touch of leather against her bare shoulder, revealed by the skimpy uniform the waitresses wore at the Round Table.  “Let her go, Louis,” a deep, firm voice commanded.

A voice she knew.  

Felicity looked over her shoulder to see the Mystery Man, dressed the same as the last time she had seen him at Verdant--but what was he doing here?  

Louis, the small man, immediately let her go.  “My apologies, young signore.  I did not know she was yours.”  

“No, she’s not, but it's a pain in the ass to replace staff,” the Mystery Man said.  “A waitress will be over with your drinks shortly.  Ferrari, keep him in line, would you?”

The fat man tilted his head in acknowledgement of the admonition, but didn’t say anything.  Without another word, the Mystery Man took her by the elbow and pulled her away--but this time, Felicity let herself be manhandled, because her brain was too full of questions.

Did the Mystery Man have something to do with the running of the Round Table?  Felicity had never seen him here before, but he must be someone important, not just because of the line about replacing staff, but also due to how Louis and Ferrari had treated the Mystery Man.  Oh, why hadn’t she ever found out what his name was?  It felt so silly to call him “Mystery Man” in her head!

If he was so important here, though . . . why had he visited Verdant so often?  Had he been scoping the place out, looking for ways to improve the Round Table?  If that was the case, he was a lousy businessman.  Verdant and the Round Table couldn’t be more different.  

The Mystery Man didn’t just pull her away from table nine; he steered her out of the speakeasy and into an office that wasn’t much bigger than a closet.  There was a small desk and two battered chairs, possible cast-offs from the speakeasy itself.  When they were inside, he threw the bolt on the door and dropped down into one of the chairs.  

“Please, have a seat.”  

Her nerves were on high alert, but Felicity told herself firmly there was nothing to fear from the Mystery Man.  He had always treated her respectfully, including just now with saving her from the distasteful Louis.  So Felicity sat down.  

From under the brim of his fedora, she thought he was studying her closely.  But she wasn’t prepared for the vitriol in his voice when he asked, “What the hell are you doing here?”

She gawked at him.  “What?”

“This is the last place a girl like you should be working.  And if anyone knew you used to work at Verdant,” the Mystery Man began, but Felicity cut him off. 

“Mr. Merlyn already knows.  I told him when I came here looking for a job,” Felicity said, bristling at his high-handedness.  Who was he to think he knew better than she did about her own life?  What made men think they had the right? 

_ Centuries of power? _ her brain volunteered, but Felicity ignored that tangent. 

The Mystery Man let out a heavy sigh and slumped down in his chair.  “Great,” he said.  “Just peachy.”

“Look, I don't know what's going on, but could you tell me your name?” Felicity said, her curiosity too much to bear.  She hardly knew anything about this man, a man who had some kind of interest in her and in Oliver.  Up until now, she would have thought it was a friendly, well-intentioned interest, but she wasn't so sure now. 

The Mystery Man tilted his head, the gesture making her think of a confused puppy, and after a moment of hesitation, he said, “Arthur.”

“Arthur.  Like King Arthur and his Knights of the Round Table?” Felicity asked, an eyebrow going up.  When Mystery--when Arthur didn't reply, Felicity squared her shoulders.  

“Okay, Arthur.  Why are you so concerned about me?  And what are you doing here?”

“My question first: what are  _ you _ doing  _ here _ ?”

He sounded angry.  Frustrated.  Yet underneath, there was concern.  Felicity sensed the reason he was so upset was because he was worried about her.  The only person at the Round Table to be concerned about her, to show her the barest shred of kindness.   

“W-why can't I be here?” she asked, trying to sound defiant even as she felt her lower lip tremble. 

Arthur didn't say anything.  He didn't have to--he could tell she was on the verge of breaking down.  Having him wait for her to talk was the final straw, the thing which made her decide to trust him and forced the whole awful story to come out.

About falling for Oliver, seeing his goodness and dedication to Starling City--although his eyes and the way he looked in a vest with rolled-up shirtsleeves hadn't hurt.  Meeting his sister, feeling like everything was going perfectly . . . and then the bombshell. 

Even in the midst of her babbling, Felicity knew she couldn't reveal Oliver's secret.  So she told Arthur the same thing she had told her mother and Caitlin: he wasn't going to treat her like a full partner. 

Arthur huffed out a breath at that.  “He’s gotten chivalrous.”

Even though his words were harsh, his tone was affectionate.  Like he knew Oliver?  Not just knew him--like they were good friends.  He had asked questions about Oliver before, when she had waited on him at Verdant, but Felicity had never thought Oliver and the Mystery Man might be acquainted. 

“So you broke it off with Oliver and decided you couldn't work at Verdant any longer.  What made you decide to come here?” Arthur asked. 

“I. . . I knew I could get a job here,” Felicity said after a moment.  She couldn't very well tell Arthur she was gathering information to take down the mob-run speakeasies.  She didn't know what to expect from him--if she told him the truth, he would have to fire her.  Or maybe . . . he would want to help her.  Which would be too dangerous for him; what if  _ he  _ lost  _ his  _ job?  For a man like him, with his disfigurement, it must be difficult to find employment.  Which was completely unfair, considering how he must have already suffered.  He didn’t deserve to lose his job if he chose to help her, although he was so nice--he didn't deserve to have this be the best job he could get. 

Arthur huffed again and shook his head.  “You’re making a big mistake.  I think you should go back to Verdant.  Even if Oliver was stupid enough to mess up his relationship with you, he would be scared to death if he knew where you were.  And what about your friends, your family?  They can't be happy about you being here.”

“They're fine with it,” Felicity lied, since no one knew she worked at the Round Table.  She had told both her mother and her friends she had gotten another waitressing job, since the money was so good.  Everyone had accepted her lie, although Donna had looked slightly skeptical. 

“You are a terrible liar,” Arthur said, making Felicity sigh from frustration. 

“Just like Oliver, you don't get to tell me what to do,” Felicity argued. 

He leaned forward a little in his chair and placed his gloved hands on his desk.  “Don't consider it an order, but a piece of friendly advice.  This isn't a place you should be working, Felicity.”

The thing was, she knew he was right.  She couldn't take his advice.  Not yet.  Maybe in a few weeks, once she knew more. . . 

If only she could tell Arthur what she was really doing here.  Yet if she did and he chose to help her . . . she wasn’t sure if she could handle the guilt if something went wrong for him.  Besides, she didn’t really know what his motives were.   

“Thank you,” she said, meaning it.  Going toe-to-toe with Louis couldn’t be good for him.  She appreciated him taking that risk.  She didn’t want to encourage this any further.  So she had to stand firm.    

Rising to her feet, she continued.  “I need this job--I can't quit.  But believe me, as soon as I find something better, I'm leaving.  Okay?”

That didn't look very acceptable to Arthur, but after a moment he nodded slowly.  “Be careful around Louis.  I won't always be around.”

“I have very pointy elbows,” Felicity said, tucking her tray under one arm and folding the other to display the hard knob of her elbow joint.  “I'll keep them at the ready.”

Arthur let out a soft bark of laughter and shook his head.  “Okay, Felicity.  Get back to work.”

“Yes, sir--thank you, sir,” Felicity said, hurrying out of the office. 

She had learned a lot tonight.  Only some of it was helpful to Oliver, and the rest had just created more questions.  Her curiosity was off the charts about the mysterious Arthur. 

First and foremost, she wanted to know how he knew Oliver. 

End, Chapter 7


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This might be my favorite chapter in this fic--I got to write a lot of different shades to Oliver that I really enjoyed exploring, including sassy little shit Oliver. :-) I hope y’all enjoy this chapter!

 

With a loud thud, Oliver’s back hit the mats.  He panted, staring up at the ceiling of Verdant’s basement, feeling clumsier and slower and more awkward than he had during that first training session with Digg.

“Boss, you sure you’re feeling okay?” Digg asked, holding a hand out to him.  

Ignoring the olive branch, even though he knew it made him look petulant, Oliver pushed himself to his feet.  “Fine, Digg.  Let’s go again.”  

His head bouncer looked reluctant, than shrugged and resumed his stance.  Oliver started throwing punches, trying to take Digg down. 

Over the last few months, Oliver had improved greatly.  He knew how to brawl, how to go toe-to-toe with any man and find his weaknesses before using those weaknesses against him.  With his determination and increased strength, he usually held his own against Digg and could take him down.

Not today, though.  Not with the distractions clouding his mind. 

A week had passed since the night he had told Felicity his secret.  A week since he had messed everything up.  It wasn’t his fault.  He just . . . he didn’t understand.  He had been so prepared for Felicity to be angry about his secret.  For her to be upset that he had kept the truth from her.  To have to explain all the reasons he had chosen to work in the shadows.  

He should have known better.  He should have guessed that Felicity, with her amazing mind and desire to know about the world, would be well-aware of the problems in Starling City.  Even more, he should have realized she had noticed his actions and would have suspicions about who the Hood was.  

The reason she was mad was still so surprising to him.  It had never crossed his mind that Felicity would want to be involved in what he was doing to save the city.  Finding out she wanted to help had made his blood run cold.  Because . . . because he just couldn’t let her do that.  Couldn’t live with the risk of losing Felicity, after losing Tommy and Laurel.  

He hadn’t been able to explain that to Felicity.  He had been too emotional, too scared, to get through to her.  So she thought he didn’t respect her.  Which couldn’t be farther from the truth--he did respect her.  He respected her so much, he wanted to tell her the truth before he confessed his love to her.  Before they went too far.

Pain radiated across his jaw, stunning him.  He stumbled and dropped to the mats, trying to figure out what had just happened.  

“That’s it, I’m done,” Digg said, turning his back on Oliver and walking over to the corner, taking a seat in one of the beat-up chairs, cast-offs from Verdant, were arranged.  “Your head’s not in it today.”  

Oliver watched as Digg sat down and picked up a rough towel, wiping the sweat off his face.  Then, groaning softly, he flopped back on the mats, taking a few moments to collect himself.

The only sound was his loud breaths, gradually growing quieter as he felt his heart slow down.  Then, feeling a bit sore, he leveraged himself to his feet and walked over to sit beside Digg.  He glanced at his friend and employee, then said quietly, “Sorry about that.”

“You don't have to apologize to me, but I don't like the idea of you going out on the streets with your head like this.  ‘Cause you're going to get yourself caught and unmasked--if you're lucky.  Otherwise, you’re going to get killed,” Digg said bluntly. 

Shaking his head, Oliver ran his hand over his sweaty hair.  He knew Digg was right, but he just couldn't seem to shut off his feelings like he used to.  His years away had taught him to be stoic, but the months he had spent falling for Felicity had changed him.  Made him become more in touch with his emotions or something like that.  Even though they had broken up, he couldn't wall off how he was feeling and get on with what he needed to do. 

Things in Starling City were getting worse.  The crime rate in the Glades was increasing exponentially.  It was so bad, Oliver had begun seeing policemen patrolling there, and in more than a token way.  The police had found it necessary to act, with how the newspapers were starting to ask questions.  Like why one section of the city was being left to rot--except for the efforts of its mysterious hooded protector. 

As much as Oliver hoped that the public pressure was making the cops act, he knew they weren't in the Glades to fight crime.  Not with stories in the same papers showing Malcolm Merlyn making big donations to all the local politicians and to the Policemen’s Widows and Orphans Fund. 

No, the cops were trying to catch the Hood.  Trying to unmask him and pin all the blame on a vigilante instead of organized crime. So Oliver couldn't afford to be distracted, to make mistakes. 

Losing Felicity, though . . . it made distraction his normal state of mind.  

“I realize that, Digg.  Tonight is just . . . It's an off night.  I won't go out to patrol tonight, if that would reassure you,” Oliver told him, straightening up in his chair. 

“What would reassure me is if you admitted it's Felicity that's got you so worked up,” Digg replied, his words firm but his voice gentle.  It was the same approach Digg had used when Oliver had confessed the reason for his break-up with Felicity.   

Oliver rose to his feet and pulled his shirt over his head.  He kept his back to Digg, not wanting to face him as he spoke.  Knowing that Digg had more experience with relationships than Oliver, it was tempting to ask him for help.  Yet given how Digg was holding back on offering any advice, Oliver suspected his friend and employee expected Oliver to figure this out for himself.

“She sent her friend here to get the pay that was due to her.  She didn't want any chance of running into me,” Oliver said quietly.  “It's over, Digg, and I just have to try and move on.”

“It's not over.  She's hurting, I'm sure of it.  Just like you are.  You two need to sit down and talk this over.”

Grimacing, Oliver picked up a clean shirt and yanked it on.  “She walked away.  It's up to her to tell me if she wants to talk.”

“Oh, very mature.  You know that's not going to work--”

“Of course I know!” Oliver snapped, whirling around to face Digg.  “But what else am I supposed to do?  Pester her to take me back, send her roses and candy, tell her I'll do anything if she gives me another chance?  Do you think any of that will make her change her mind?”

Digg withstood his outburst calmly.  Then he pinned Oliver with his eyes as he spoke.  “I'm not saying it would be easy.  I'm just saying, nothing worthwhile ever came easy.  You're in love with Felicity.  If you don't give this everything you've got, if you don't try everything in order to get her to reconsider, you're always going to be distracted and on edge.  And that leads to mistakes that are a lot more final than a break-up.”

He finished buttoning his shirt as he thought over Digg’s words.  The truth and sincerity were undeniable, and Oliver found himself agreeing with him.  He just didn't know if he could risk his heart by reaching out to Felicity.  Not with how bruised it was. 

“It's only been a week,” he said.  “I don't want to put pressure on Felicity.  Maybe this time apart will let us realize we want to be together enough to work through our disagreements.”

Digg didn't look happy, but he nodded.  “If you're not going out to patrol tonight, you could spend some time upstairs.  Work the room, see what customers are talking about.  You never know what gossip you might overhear.”

“Yeah,” Oliver agreed.  “Why don't you make an early night of it?”

“Don't mind if I do,” Digg said with a smile.  “As long as you don't do anything stupid.”

“I can't make any promises, but I'll try,” Oliver said, managing a small grin. 

XXX

Slowly, placing each foot carefully, Oliver walked through the dark, dirty streets of Starling City.  After having a break the previous night, and his continuing worry about being distracted, he looked closely at everything he was seeing.  Which meant he saw, with new eyes, why his quest was so important.  So necessary. 

The heart of any city was its people.  From what he was seeing, Starling City was in great danger.  The people of this city were scared.  Anxious.  Hopeless.  They could see the wrongs happening all around them, yet they couldn’t fix them.

He could, though.  He just needed to work harder, be better.  That would start tonight.  

In the past, he had been more hands-off when patrolling the city, intervening in fights or arguments when he could quickly diffuse the situation or protect someone being attacked.  Not anymore, though.  He could do more.   

Especially with blunt force.  

Tonight alone, he had done more than he had since he began this crusade.  He stopped mob enforcers from shaking down three different shop owners, saving the owners from having to pay protection money.  He shot out the tires on a delivery van as it approached one of the Merlyn speakeasies, then fired a flaming arrow into the back of the truck so its merchandise--crates of dangerous bootleg liquor--blew up.  Best of all, he took out four different petty crooks: two bruisers, a thief, and worst of all, a man who tried to attack a woman.  

At the end of the night, he was exhausted.  He could feel bruises forming over his ribs and his lip was split, blood dripping down his chin.  He had also done something to his right knee while running after the thief.  He didn’t care, though.  He knew he had done good tonight--and he was convinced this approach was the right one for him.

Starling City was a little bit safer tonight.  The feeling of accomplishment felt good.  However, he knew he couldn’t get too focused on addressing the symptoms, at the risk of ignoring the disease.  The mob was the real problem and he couldn’t forget that.  

Moving slowly through the alleys, Oliver started making his way back towards Verdant.  After a few blocks, he began having the sense that he was being followed--by someone who was pretty good.  At this hour of the night, it wasn’t exactly easy to follow someone without being noticed.  

Digg had taught him something about how to lose a tail, so Oliver began mentally running through the steps as he began taking a zig-zag path through the Glades.  All the work he had done memorizing the area from maps, and then forming his own mental map, paid off: within fifteen minutes, he had led his pursuer into a very seedy part of the Glades, filled with dark, narrow alleys.  

Perhaps he should just try to shake the tail and get back to Verdant.  Oliver was curious about who was following him.  Too curious to let this go.  

Up ahead was a good spot to turn the tables on his follower.  The moon provided some light, but at only half-full, it wasn’t enough to combat all the darkness.  Oliver stepped into an alley, immediately fading into the shadows to give him cover.  Using a few jutting bricks as hand and toe holds, he climbed ten feet up the side of the building.  Then he pressed himself against the bricks and waited. 

After only a moment, a man stopped at the mouth of the alley.  Oliver watched as he looked around and took a few cautious steps further, before drawing a gun and holding it by his side.  

A gun was bad news normally.  Just as Oliver was ready to fire a grappling arrow towards the building’s roof and make his escape, a shaft of moonlight illuminated his pursuer. 

It was Detective Lance.  Laurel’s father, the man who hated Oliver Queen . . . what was he doing following Starling City’s masked vigilante?  Did he hate the Hood as well? 

Oliver pushed off from the wall, dropping silently into a crouch behind the detective.  He stood up, nocking an arrow and aiming it as he spoke in the deep, raspy voice he had been perfecting.  “Why are you following me?”

Lance turned around quickly, his gun immediately lifting into position.  He looked at Oliver for a long moment over the barrel of his gun, before he slowly lowered it.  It was a show of trust and Oliver was taken aback.  It was Lance's words that truly shocked him. 

“To get your help.”

Under his hood, Oliver blinked.  Quentin Lance, Mr. Letter of the Law, was coming to the Hood for help? 

Not understanding the Hood was too surprised to speak, Lance rushed to explain himself.  “I'm a cop.  A detective.   Never thought I'd do something like this, but with the way things are . . . It sticks in my craw to be told to look the other way, to misplace or destroy evidence, to not question the people responsible for all of this.”  Lance waved a hand around them.  “With what you've been doing, I figured you might be the only one who can do something.”

Slowly, Oliver let his bow drop, returning the arrow to his quiver.  This opportunity--to have a man inside the police department--was just what he needed. 

“What are you suggesting?” Oliver asked in his Hood voice, keeping his head slightly bowed so Lance couldn't catch a glimpse of any distinguishing features. 

“I've got plenty of bad guys for you to go after--I could give you a list right now of three dozen men with known mob connections.  And that's just to get started, a warm-up before the real fight: taking out Malcolm Merlyn.  He's dirty and he don't give a damn about destroying this city.”

The frustration and anger was clear in Lance's voice.  It made Oliver think of Laurel, when she got fired up about something.  Clearly, that was a tendency she had inherited from her father. 

Then there was Malcolm.  The police knew he was the root of the problem but they would do nothing about him.  Oliver felt an anger that was the equal of Lance's.  While the detective’s hate burned hot and fiery, Oliver's was cold and dark and vengeful. 

“Why now?” Oliver asked. 

“Because in a month, it's the anniversary of my daughter's death.  She died with Merlyn’s son--she died ‘cause of Merlyn!” Lance snarled. 

Oliver took a step back.  He hadn't realized. . .  Next month, it would be three years.  His anger was now turning into flames, but he somehow managed to stay in control. 

“Get me that list and I'll start crossing names off,” Oliver growled.  

Lance nodded, wiping a hand over his face.  “How. . .?”

“Mail it to John Diggle,” Oliver instructed, knowing that he was pressing his luck with how much he had already spoken.  He drew the grappling arrow and fired it, feeling it sink into the cement block around the building roofline.  He climbed up the rope, knowing it wasn't the fastest exit--but it certainly demonstrated his strength. 

Right now, on the verge of being able to shut down the mob .. . Oliver knew he would need a lot of strength. 

XXX

Waiting was not something Oliver did well.  As the days passed without the arrival of Lance’s information, he became short-tempered.  There was only so much frustration he could work out on the mob toughs he took out as the Hood.  To make it even worse, there was an itchy feeling on the back of his neck.  A sense of something looming over everything, something bad.  All he could do was work at Verdant, read every Starling City newspaper from front to back, and keep his eyes open and his mouth shut.  

All that, and miss Felicity.  

Was Digg right?  Should he be making overtures towards Felicity?  It had been over two weeks--surely by now she might be ready to talk.  Maybe she even missed him as much as he missed her . . . 

No.  He had no idea how she felt towards him, since she had cut off all contact.  He didn’t want to make things worse by going to her before she was ready to talk.  His viewpoint still hadn’t changed, either; he still felt that Felicity could do more to help him by working at Verdant and performing tests.  

Soon he would have the information he needed to take the mob out, and then he could go to her.  Once it was safe, once he had fulfilled his promise to Tommy and Laurel.  

Oliver smiled sadly.  Now that he had been reminded of the upcoming anniversary, his old friends were often in his thoughts.  

“I know that smile isn't about Felicity, since it's not kicked puppy.  This one is more like remembering your dog went to a farm upstate.”

Digg’s words might appear flippant or mocking, but his voice was warm and supportive.  Oliver turned to Digg and shrugged a shoulder. 

“You're right.  I was thinking about Tommy and Laurel.  When I met Lance, he reminded me that it's been nearly three years now.”  Oliver picked up a rag and started polishing the glasses in front of him, wanting something to keep his hands busy. 

Easing himself down on a bar stool, Digg rested his massive arms against the bar.  “I'm getting nervous about how we haven't heard anything.  I know I've been telling you to be patient . . .”

“But it's been two weeks,” Oliver finished with a sigh.  “I know.  But what else can we do?  Other than the Hood showing up at Lance’s--hey, I could do that,” he said, taking his spoken-aloud thought for the sound idea it was. 

Thoughtfully pursing his lips, Digg nodded.  “Yeah, that could work.  You think you could get into a good part of town without anyone seeing you?”

It was a good question.  Oliver was about to answer when there was a loud pounding on Verdant’s front door. 

At noon on a Wednesday, Verdant was quiet.  Food deliveries were made to the kitchen door, while liquor was delivered at night.  So who was trying to get into a nightclub during the day? 

Digg rose to his feet and walked out through the speakeasy door, heading to the elaborate entrance to the club.  Oliver moved to stand in the doorway, within view of Digg. 

To his great surprise, it was Malcolm Merlyn at the front door. 

His instincts made Oliver immediately go on guard.  After the beginning of the summer, when Malcolm had made a lot of noise about acquiring Verdant, there hadn’t been any sign of his best friend’s father since then.  

With falling for Felicity and their short-lived relationship, Oliver hadn’t realized Malcolm had made himself scarce.  Now aware of that fact, though, it made him . . . well, not nervous.  But certainly apprehensive.  Because why had Malcolm let Oliver stonewall him about Verdant and then dropped off the map? 

“Oliver, my boy.  Good to see you.”  Malcolm strode past Digg and walked up to him, taking off his leather gloves and holding his hand out. 

The last thing he wanted to do was shake the hand of the man who headed the Italian mob in Starling City, but Oliver knew he had no choice.  So he took Malcolm's hand and pumped it once.  “Malcolm.  Long time, no see.”  

“Business.  Business has kept me busy.  Which is why I am here now.”  Malcolm looked around, slapping his gloves against one palm.  His eyes were measuring and calculating, but the fidgeting with his gloves made Oliver believe all was not well with Malcolm. 

“Is this about your order for me to sell my bar to you?” Oliver asked, folding his arms over his chest and watching Malcolm carefully.  Out of the corner of his eye, he noticed Digg moving a bit further into the room, ready to step in if necessary. 

It wasn't necessary, because Oliver knew he could defend himself against Malcolm, but he appreciated the support nevertheless. 

Malcolm's face darkened.  “Being glib is not in your best interest, Oliver.  I allowed you extra time to make your decision, out of deference to Tommy's memory and the importance of the relationship between our two families.  But business comes first, and that means I will own Verdant.”

“No, you won’t,” Oliver said quietly.  

“Yes, I will,” Malcolm insisted.  “There’s no staying independent.  Not anymore, Queen.  Sell now, and I’ll even allow you to keep running this place with a minimum of interference.  Starting with keeping all your staff.”

Without Lance’s information, Oliver felt a little like he was flying blind.  Yet he wanted no part of anything involving Malcolm.  He had known that from the beginning.  

“Despite your offer, Malcolm--or should I say, order--I’m not selling.”  

“I’ll double my offer,” Malcolm countered.  “One hundred thousand dollars.”

That made Oliver pause.  Not from the amount--although it was a substantial sum--but because he couldn't believe Malcolm would show such desperation.  

He glanced over at Digg, curious for his opinion.  Digg looked equally surprised.  

“One hundred and fifty,” Oliver said, testing Malcolm.  

The older man grit his teeth.  “One hundred and twenty-five,” he offered half-heartedly.

“One hundred fifty,” Oliver insisted.  

He had no intention of selling at any price.  This little fishing expedition wasn’t about the price.   

Heaving a sigh, Malcolm held his hand out to Oliver.  “One hundred and fifty thousand dollars.  Do we have a deal?” 

For a long moment, Oliver looked at Malcolm's outstretched hand.  Then he lifted his eyes to the other man's face and read his expression.  Oliver saw the barely-concealed desperation, the megalomaniacal ambition, the evil, in Malcolm's eyes.  Whatever happened, Oliver knew he had to stop Malcolm.  Nothing good would happen when a man with such eyes was in power. 

“No deal,” Oliver said, stepping back.  “Verdant isn't for sale at any price.”

All the other emotions were wiped off Malcolm's face in the blink of an eye, replaced by a monumental fury.  “You will regret this, Queen.  With your last breath, you will rue this day.”

Oliver stayed silent, having said all be needed to say.  A part of him regretted severing one of the few remaining links to his past.  Malcom Merlyn had never cared about his own son, let alone about Oliver, who was practically a brother to Tommy.  

So he had no regrets about watching Malcolm leave his speakeasy.  The minute the door closed behind him, Oliver let out a breath and turned to look at Digg. 

“Well, that was interesting,” Digg commented in a masterpiece of understatement. 

Huffing out a laugh, he nodded.  “That was pretty desperate of Malcolm.  Do you think we're the last hold-out?  The only joint that's not under mob control in Starling City?”

“Even if we aren't, we're definitely the biggest,” Digg said.  He pressed his lips together.  “My question is, what happens now?  If he can't own this place, how is he going to take us off the board?”

Oliver nodded in agreement.  If Malcolm couldn't buy Verdant, he would want it shut down and out of business.  “And Malcolm knows where to go, if he's going to take the legal route.”  At Digg’s curious expression, Oliver explained, “Detective Lance.  And just because he reached out to the Hood, it doesn’t mean Lance wouldn’t be very happy to move against Oliver Queen.”

“Since he doesn’t know you’re one and the same,” Digg acknowledged.

“Yeah,” Oliver replied, thinking this over.  “What if we closed down for a few nights?  If they can't see any drinking going on, they can’t bust us.”

“They would probably have a warrant to search the premises anyway,” Digg said.  “Unless you want to dump all the inventory, closing won't make any difference.”

That was a painful choice.  As popular a nightspot as Verdant was, it was all about the hooch.  He couldn't risk the people who worked for him losing their jobs because the nightclub was closed by police order, though.  Although . . . if he made Verdant a legitimate nightclub until this was all over, Carly and Digg would be able to run things while he dealt with the mob. 

Now it was just a matter of time until war started.  Stopping a mob war was just the kind of reason he had started doing this.  He could practically hear Laurel and Tommy in his head, talking about the misery such an event would cause.  He could hear Felicity, too.  Could imagine the fire in her eyes as she talked about saving Starling City. 

Straightening up, Oliver looked at Digg.  “Okay, let's get rid of the booze.  For the foreseeable future, Verdant is dry.  Kick out anyone who's flagrant with their flasks.”

“You sure about this, boss?  Your bottom line is going to take a hit.”

“I'm sure,” Oliver said.  “The money was never the reason I opened this place.”  

With a nod, Digg followed Oliver to the basement, where they began emptying bottles.  It didn’t take long for the reek of alcohol to become offensive, but they carried on.  And the whole time, Oliver was making plans.  Getting ready to stop this war--to stop Malcolm--before Starling City became even worse.

XXX

Compared to a normal Wednesday night, Verdant was very quiet tonight.  The club now being dry had definitely impacted business.  Oliver felt a strange sense of gratitude at the number of filled tables and the couples dancing to  _ Stardust _ .  Even without the booze, the band and the classy surroundings were enough to make people stay.  If some of them were spiking their drinks--well, that made Verdant no different from any other dance hall in town.  As long as people weren’t too obvious, Oliver was willing to let that slide.  

Being dry would hopefully keep the police off his back, if Malcolm chose to sic Lance on him.  It might even make Malcolm back off on his desire to obtain Verdant, if it was just another nightclub.  Running Verdant gave him a great alibi if his identity as the Hood was unmasked, too.  Not that Oliver was worried about that--there hadn’t been a hint of anyone knowing who the Hood really was.  

Best of all, one of the local street urchins had knocked on the speakeasy door an hour after Malcolm had left, asking for Digg.  According to Digg, as soon as he showed up at the door, the kid took one look at him and handed over a thick folder.

“He said a cop gave it to him and paid him fifty cents to bring it to me,” Digg had told Oliver when he handed it over.  “Looks like Detective Lance finally came through.”  

“He did,” Oliver had said, opening the folder and starting to flip through the notes.  “This is gonna take some time to go over.”  

“It’s bad timing,” Digg had acknowledged.  “Because with no booze, we’re gonna need everyone on the floor helping out.  Including the owner.”

Oliver knew his bouncer spoke the truth, but the whole night, he had been thinking about the folder locked inside his desk, thinking about all the information now at his fingertips.

“I sure hope you haven’t put Verdant on the wagon because of me, big brother,” Thea said, suddenly appearing by his side in that way of hers.  

“No need, since I trust you when you say you haven’t tried to drink,” Oliver said, turning to look at her.  She was wearing a more sedate dress than she normally wore when out on the town, and he wondered at the change in her.  

“Is that cute bouncer, Roy, working tonight?”

_ And there was his answer _ .  Roy definitely wasn’t the type to be attracted to a jazz baby--something Thea probably hadn’t noticed.  Roy also wasn’t going to try anything with his boss’s sister.  

“Yes, but let Roy do his job, Speedy,” Oliver cautioned.  “You’re having a good time?”  

Thea nodded, going up on her toes to kiss his cheek.  “I am.  You don’t look like you are.  Not since you and Felicity broke things off.  I’m really sorry, Ollie.  Are you sure you two can’t--”

There was so much hope in his sister’s voice, he hated to crush it.  “I haven’t even seen Felicity since our relationship ended, Thea.  I don’t think there’s much chance of us patching things up,” he interrupted her.  It had been weeks and he had no idea where she was working, how she was doing, if she was all right.  Yet if she wasn’t in his life, she had to be safe.  But Oliver knew that he couldn’t let this go on.  As soon as he took care of Malcolm, he was going to see Felicity.  He was going to talk to her, to explain why he had needed her to stay away from this side of him.  Then he would ask for her forgiveness and for her help.  So that the next time he faced this challenge, she would help him confront his fears while standing by his side.

Thea’s face fell, but she didn’t say anything.  She just reached up and hugged him.  Oliver hugged her back, glad that he had at least one family member he could turn to when times were hard.  

Pulling back, Thea gave him an encouraging smile.  “Come on, you can escort me back to my table.  Maybe give the evil eye to the fellows at the next table.”  

Oliver frowned.  “Did they say something to you or your friends?”

“No,” Thea said, wrapping her hands around his forearm.  “But they’re giving me the creeps.  Plus, they’ve all got big flasks and they’re not exactly hiding them.”  

Hmmm.  If someone was giving Thea a bad feeling, it was probably legitimate.  He certainly wanted to check on these characters.    

Without any further ado, Oliver walked with Thea over to her table, his eyes sweeping around the room as casually as he could.  It wasn’t hard to spot the men who had been making Thea uncomfortable.  Seated at a table catty-corner to Thea’s were six men, all large and bulky except for one small dark fellow.  Ironically enough, he was the one giving Oliver the most pause.  

To minimize any suspicions, Oliver started making the rounds once he had gotten Thea back to her table.  He heard the complaints about the club going dry and accepted compliments on the band with the same expression on his face: a charming smile, one of the few remnants of his days as Ollie Queen.

As he pressed the flesh, he kept watching the men and knew they were involved with organized crime.  And he didn’t like them in his club.  Especially when he saw Thea was right:  they were spiking their drinks without even trying to be sneaky.  

Slowly, Oliver made his way over to Digg.  “Do you see the men at table twenty-two?” Oliver asked.  

Digg looked around and then nodded.  “Yep.”  

“Wait fifteen minutes, then take Roy and Eddie over there and throw them out.  But take them out through the speakeasy entrance,” Oliver said quietly.  

“What are you going to do?” Digg asked, eyeing Oliver.  

“Me?  Nothing.  But what are the chances the Hood would be in that alley, needing some information on the mob’s movements?” Oliver replied, giving Digg a small smirk.

Rolling his eyes, Digg nodded.  “Okay, boss.  Fifteen minutes.”

XXX

Oliver checked that his jacket was zipped.  That his quiver was full.  That his bow was in good order.  He knew it was his nerves driving him to fuss with his equipment, but given the circumstances, he thought he was allowed a moment or two of reflection. 

Thanks to the information from Lance and the goons he had intimidated, Oliver had learned the two sides of organized crime in Starling City--Irish and Italian--were meeting in a week.  The Italians were determined to stack the deck in their favor.  They planned to frame the Irish for a hit on a major Italian lieutenant, a man who had displeased Malcolm.  It would be the perfect justification for a war. 

A war that wasn't going to happen, though.  He couldn’t let such misery and terror get a grip on his city.  He had spent the last week preparing for tonight, when he would break up the meeting and prevent any loss of life.  It had been a complex process: tipping off Lance via a letter delivered by an arrow into his home; training harder than before by performing extra calisthenics and taking target practice; extra patrols for both himself and Digg.  

He-- _ they _ \--were ready.  Oliver knew that.  Yet in these final moments before they moved out, standing in the now-closed speakeasy, he couldn’t help thinking about Felicity.  Wondering if he should have made the time to see her.  Just in case . . . 

If he wasn’t successful tonight, if something happened to him, he didn’t like the idea that his final moments with Felicity were filled with coldness and anger and distrust.  If he had gone to her, what could he have said?  He wouldn’t have been able to be honest with her.  Not the way he wanted to be.  

Soon.  Soon, this would all be over and he could try to repair things with Felicity.  The city was realizing just how bad things were.  If someone like Lance was willing to break the rules, the police had to be ready for a change.  Once the police started enforcing the laws, started arresting anyone who committed crimes, then the need for the Hood would be lessened.  Maybe eliminated entirely.

He might be able to hang up his hood, to settle down into a life with Felicity, if she was willing.  None of that could happen until the mob was dealt with.  

Taking a few deep breaths, Oliver looked over at Digg.  His friend and partner was checking his guns just as carefully as Oliver had checked his bow and arrows.  Then he lifted his eyes to Oliver’s and gave him a small smile.

“Ready to go, boss?”

“I think so,” Oliver replied, rolling his shoulders a little.  He paused.  “Did you . . . does Carly know anything about what you’ve been doing with me?  Does she know about tonight?”

“Yeah, of course,” Digg said, sounding like that was obvious.  “I couldn’t have done it if she didn’t support me.”  

That wasn’t the answer he was expecting.  “So if she had told you no . . .” Oliver began, only for Digg to finish the sentence.

“I would have trained you, but I wouldn’t have joined you on the streets.  That’s the thing about being part of a couple: you have to be partners.  And you can’t do that with lies or secrets.”  

It wasn’t that dissimilar to how Oliver felt--after all, he had told Felicity the truth about being the Hood because he didn’t want to lie to her.  Yet the idea that Digg told Carly everything . . . it gave him a different perspective on his reactions.  Perhaps he had been wrong to think Felicity couldn’t have helped him with his work as the Hood.  Maybe he should have gone to her and talked this over, since he did want to be partners with her in everything . . . 

Before he could think much more on the subject, there was a knock on the door.  More than a knock, really--a desperate kind of pounding.   Which was very unusual, because no one should know they were in here.  Oliver had barely been seen at Verdant this week and the speakeasy side of the club was now closed. 

It might be just a befuddled drunk, but Oliver wasn't going to take any chances.  Exchanging looks with Digg, Oliver stepped back, into a corner that would be blocked from view once the door was opened.  Digg concealed his guns and then stepped up to open the small window in the door.  Oliver saw Digg do a slight double-take before he spoke. 

“We're dry.  No booze here.”

“I'm not looking for a drink.  I need to talk to Oliver Queen.”

Oliver tilted his head to one side.  The voice sounded . . . familiar? 

“Mr.  Queen isn't here tonight, but if you'd like to leave a message--” Digg began, but the stranger cut him off. 

“I know he's here.  And I know what he is.  And he's going to want to talk to me.”

Digg glanced at Oliver and opened his mouth to protest, to warn or to dissuade.  But Oliver shook his head. 

“Let him in, Digg.”

A swarm of butterflies broke out in his gut when Digg nodded after a moment and unlocked the door.  Who was this man with a voice that sounded like . . .

A man in a trench coat and a fedora stepped inside, looking around frantically.  As soon as he spotted Oliver, the man advanced forward, stopping only a few feet away from him.  Close enough for Oliver to see the scars on his hands, to see the discolored skin of his neck and face underneath his hat. 

It made him remember how, on their first patrol, Digg had seen a man with scarred hands helping him.

“He has her.  My father has your Felicity,” the scarred man said without any warning.  “She found her way into his big meeting and he's ready to kill her.”

The words were like a physical blow.  Oliver had been scared, heartbroken, and worried before.  Never this strongly.  His hand gripped his bow so tightly, he dimly wondered if he might crack it.  

If anyone laid a hand on Felicity--if they harmed one hair on her head--he was going to make them pay.  

He took three steps towards the door, but suddenly stopped as logic kicked in.  Who was this man?  Who was his father?  Possibly part of the Irish mob, maybe?  Oliver knew all the players on the Italian side, due to Lance's information, and he couldn’t place anyone who could have taken Felicity.  

Turning slowly back to the man, Oliver looked at him closely.  “How do I know your father has her?  How do I know this isn't a trap?”

His words hung in the air, before the stranger slowly lifted a scarred hand and took off his fedora.  His face was scarred and blotchy, a fuzz of dark hair covering his scalp.  

But when his eyes met Oliver’s, blue on blue, Oliver knew the stranger wasn’t a stranger at all.  

“Because I’m your oldest friend,” Tommy Merlyn said.

End, Chapter 8


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’m so glad that the big reveal of Tommy was met with so much happiness! Of course, I can’t give y’all something you wanted without taking something else, so let’s see how Felicity is doing and whether Oliver, Tommy and Digg arrive in time . . .

 

Felicity Smoak wasn’t even twenty-two yet.  She had barely lived.  So she shouldn’t be looking back on her life and be filled with regrets.  Right now, tied to a chair and in fear of her life, Felicity could think of nothing but what she should have done, what she wished she hadn’t done, and all the choices she had made that had brought her to this moment.  

In front of her, Malcolm Merlyn stood with several men--his underlings, she believed.  They were talking quietly, throwing looks at her, and looking pretty antsy.  

She knew why she was feeling nervous.  Why should these men feel the same way as she did, though?  It wasn’t like they were contemplating their imminent death, leaving behind their friends, depriving a mother of her only child and family, losing the chance of reconciling with the man they loved . . . 

Giving her head a small shake, Felicity looked down and took a few deep breaths, trying to calm down.  She had told herself her brains were the equal of Oliver’s fists--it was why she had taken the risks she had.  Now that it was time to prove that, she couldn’t let herself get hysterical.  No, she had to keep her wits about her, had to stay logical and focused, in order to get out of this situation.

Since she certainly hadn’t thought she would end up like this.  

**_Twenty-four hours earlier . . ._ **

Nearly running, Felicity hurried up to the front door of the Round Table.  It was seconds before five o’clock, and if she wasn’t there in time, she would be locked out and thus would be unable to report for work.  

As much as she didn’t like her job, what she was doing was important.  Every night, she learned a little more about the mob in Starling City, thanks to her new skill at eavesdropping.  She had developed ways of overhearing conversations, picking up interesting pieces of information.  Sometimes it didn’t even take hearing anything, just watching.  Seeing who rolled their eyes when someone else was talking, who tapped their fingers, who hung onto every word.  Slowly, she started building a picture of the mob in Starling City.  Developing a who’s who list that could be very useful to anyone who wanted to take apart organized crime.  

Anyone like the Hood.  

Felicity felt a stitch in her side--or maybe it was her heart letting out a spasm at the thought of Oliver.  Which was just . . . it just made her sad.  To think of Oliver, to know the pain of losing him might have become manageable, but it was still there.  Like a sore tooth you could almost forget about, until you bit down on a hard candy and the pain just shot through you.

To remember him standing in her living room, looking at her with such sadness and heartbreak and fear in his eyes . . . she could still see his expression so clearly.  Even though she still thought she had been right to tell him to leave her house.  Felicity knew she was right to insist on equal status for both of them, but she had slowly realized that telling him to leave like she had--it hadn’t been the right choice.  She could have done more to listen to his side so she could argue with him, work to persuade him to see her side of the argument.  If not that night, then soon afterwards.

And now it had been a month, and she hadn’t seen him, and she . . . she just wasn’t ready to see him.  Not unless she could show him how she could help him, make him see how useful she could be.   Not unless she had a reason to focus on, instead of the need to just wrap her arms around him and never let go.  

Before that could happen, though, she just needed a little more information, a final piece.  Over the last week or so, she had noticed how fidgety some of the men were in the Round Table--men she knew were mob associates.  Something was coming, and she wanted to know what it was when she went to Oliver.  To prove it was only urgency that made her come to him, and not because of how much she missed him.  

Running up the steps to the Round Table, she knocked on the front door just as the bells in the nearby church wheezed, chiming five.  

The door was cracked open.  “Password?”  

“Avalon!” she gasped.  

“Oh, you’re here,” the doorman said, pulling the door opened and revealing it was Arthur.  “I was hoping you had finally decided to get out of here.”  

“Ha-ha, you’re a real jokester,” Felicity said between breaths.  “Sorry to disappoint.”  

Arthur ducked his head, laughing softly.  “Have a good night, Felicity.”  

“Thanks!” she said, hurrying to the tiny cloakroom for the waitresses.  Once her coat was off, she could see what tables she had been assigned and get to work.  

The Round Table was extra-crowded tonight, which meant Felicity had to be extra-careful moving around the room.  It was a good thing she was a genius, able to juggle multiple thoughts at once.  There were too many interesting conversations going on tonight--if she actually had to think about how to find the best path through the narrow aisles between tables, she would miss too much.

Well, she would only miss information.  She would never miss working at the Round Table.  It was just . . . awful.  It was only temporary.  That was a reminder that went through her head every time a man pinched her or she had liquor spilled on her uniform.  Just a little bit longer, and then she could leave and never look back.  She wouldn’t have to worry about becoming like the people in this place, people who had given up on their hopes and dreams.  

Felicity still had a few hopes left.  

“C’mon, Blondie, move it!” Sebastian barked, and Felicity sighed.  She quickly gathered the drinks for one of her tables and hurried off.  

This particular group of customers had been here for a while, and she had noticed they were definitely here for business, not pleasure.  They had downed their drinks quickly, but then whenever she had moved close to ask if they wanted another round, they hadn’t been interested.  That meant she had gotten to hear quite a few snippets of their conversation.

“ . . . all ready--the one on the corner of Twelfth and Adams . . .”

“Those goddamn Micks ain’t gonna know . . .”

“ . . . Maranzano and Capone are watchin’ this closely.”

Felicity tried to keep her face blank, like she wasn’t listening.  When she heard the names of two of the biggest gangsters in the country, men that she knew were high up in New York and Chicago’s organized crime rings thanks to her research at the library, she wanted to find out more.  

Finally, the men had wanted a second round of drinks, so Felicity was trying to come up with a way to eavesdrop for a minute on the table.  She didn’t get lucky, but as she approached, the men had seemed to have concluded their business.

“Let’s finish these drinks and get outta here,” the apparent ringleader said.  “Find a real club and not this dump.”

“Too bad Verdant’s dry now, huh, boss?” one of the men asked as Felicity set down the drinks.  

It was so hard not to react, but somehow Felicity managed it.  Verdant was dry?  She hadn’t heard that.  Perhaps that was why the Round Table was more crowded, but she was more confused by Oliver not selling liquor anymore.  That didn’t make any sense.  Had something happened?  There hadn’t been anything in the papers, not that they really covered speakeasies.  If the police had led a raid on Verdant, it would certainly have been news.  

Her need to know more about Verdant made her want to know what was going at the club.  Made her want to see it with her own eyes.  Maybe--maybe it was time?  After all, she had plenty of information.  Some kind of big mob meeting, something that involved the Italians and the Irish, something so big that New York and Chicago were taking an interest--perhaps this was enough to go to Oliver?  Maybe he had seen things when he was out doing his work as the Hood.  Then they could combine their information and see the whole picture . . .

No.  No, this wasn’t enough.  She needed to know when--and where--the meeting was happening.  

That choice had nothing to do with being nervous about seeing Oliver again, Felicity told herself.  

The rest of the night seemed to drag.  Felicity’s shoes pinched and made her feet throb.  Her bottom felt the same, thanks to a few enthusiastic pinchers.  Even though the Round Table was crowded, her tips remained lousy.  

That was what made sticking her hand into her coat pocket and not finding her purse so frustrating.  It was the final straw on this whole frustrating, annoying, tiresome evening.

“Felicity?  What’s wrong?” Evelyn, one of the waitresses, asked her as Felicity went through all her pockets like a crazy person.  

“My purse--it’s not in my pocket where I left--oh, applesauce!” she said, turning to show Evelyn the large hole in her pocket.  “It’s ripped--I bet my purse fell out in the cloakroom.”  

“I’ll lend you the fare,” Evelyn said, opening her own purse.  

It was a nice gesture, but Felicity couldn’t take it.  “No, I need to go back and get my purse--it has my house key in it, too, and my mother’s in Seattle tonight, with her friend who just had a baby.”  

“Do you want me to go with you?” 

Felicity gave Evelyn a quick, tight smile.  “No, no, your husband’s sick--I wouldn’t dream of keeping you later.  I’ll be fine.”  

Exchanging hurried good-byes, Evelyn stepped onto the streetcar as Felicity turned back towards the Round Table.  

She hadn’t wanted to tell Evelyn, but she suspected someone at the club had robbed her.  She was pretty sure her coat pocket hadn’t been ripped earlier; she had only just bought this coat two months ago.  If someone, someone like Sebastian, had decided to rummage around for some extra cash by going through the waitresses’ clothes, they probably wouldn’t bother with being careful to cover their tracks.  

Sighing, Felicity told herself to not be so negative, to not suspect the worse immediately.  Perhaps the mean attitude at the Round Table was rubbing off on her too much.  Or maybe she was just tired.  Tired and lonely.  Maybe she should have asked Evelyn if she could stay with her . . . 

No, she just wanted to get her purse and go home.

Her footsteps seemed very loud as she walked down the street towards the Round Table.   A chilly wind whipped around her, making her tug her coat closer to her.  The streets were dark and empty, but it was an empty that made her glance around, wondering what the shadows concealed.  The Glades were always dangerous, especially at this time of night, and being alone without the other waitresses for safety . . . it put her on edge.

Picking up the pace, she stepped up to the front door and knocked.  She waited a long moment, her forehead wrinkling when no one answered.  Felicity lifted her fist and knocked again, then tried the doorknob.  

The door swung open easily and Felicity hesitantly stepped into the foyer.  She didn’t understand why the door was open, but really, she shouldn’t look a gift horse in the mouth.  

Without any delay, she hurried to the cloakroom and looked around, feeling a burst of relief when she spotted her purse on the floor, kicked underneath a rickety chair.  In the hubbub at closing, when the cloakroom was filled with waitresses chattering away, it was no surprise she hadn’t realized her purse had fallen out of her pocket.  

Felicity checked and saw the contents of her purse were all in place, just as she had left them.  Really, she had been working here too long.  There had been no nefarious plot against her; Sebastian hadn’t tried to rob her.  Biting her lip, Felicity acknowledged that she had to quit.  This place wasn’t good for her, just like Arthur had said.  Before she had begun working here, she had trusted people.  She had thought that no one was all bad.  Now, though, that belief was suffering from serious cracks.  And she didn’t want to be like that.  

Not that she should be contemplating this in the middle of the cloakroom after hours.  Tucking her purse into the non-ripped pocket of her coat, Felicity made her way back to the foyer.  Glancing around, she noticed one of the doors was open and she paused long enough to hear voices.  

She didn’t think anyone else was here . . . although that would explain the door being unlocked.  She should go tell whoever was still here to lock the front door.  After all, if someone like Mr. Merlyn knew the door was unlocked, there would be hell to pay.  

As she approached the open door, she hesitated.  Maybe she should just go--

“Louis, report.  Everything is set for tomorrow night with the Irish?”

Felicity froze.  That . . . that sounded like Arthur!  Talking about the Irish. . .  was this about the meeting between the two mob groups?  

Louis, his voice identifying him as the small, dark man whose eyes always seemed to be undressing Felicity, started to speak.  

“Yes, young signore.  My inside source confirms the Irish suspect nothing more than a business meeting.”  

There was a quiet laugh.  “You know this based on what?  Your Irish whore?  You trust her?” a different voice asked.  

“As much as I trust any woman.”  

“I don’t care,” Arthur said harshly.  “If there’s even a hint of a double-cross, I need to know.  You get me, Louis?”

There was a long pause, and then in a quiet, grudging voice, Louis said, “Yes, young signore.”  

A loud slap made Felicity nearly gasp.  She covered her mouth with her hand, hoping she hadn’t made any noise.

“Everything hinges on tomorrow night.  It will not be undone by your sloppiness, Louis--or your insolence, do you understand?”

Felicity didn’t understand.  That couldn’t be the Arthur she knew, the man with the scars who stayed in the shadows, the friend she had managed to make in this horrible place.  Not this cruel man with the hard voice.  

Although, all the talk about tomorrow night . . . that must be when the big meeting was happening, the one she had overheard some details about earlier tonight.  Which meant she should get out of here and go see Oliver.  Even if she didn’t know where the meeting was happening, she knew enough.  She had done enough to prove herself.  It was time to tell him what she had learned and hope he would listen to her.   

Slowly, Felicity eased away from the door, moving backwards.  She tried to be careful, knowing how old and rotten the wooden floorboards were under her feet.  As soon as she stepped the wrong way, though, she knew it.  A loud squeak pierced the air and the voices in the other room fell quiet.  

“Oh, no,” she breathed out.  

The door was yanked open by Louis, who smirked.  “You nosy little thing, you’re going to regret that nasty eavesdropping habit of yours.”  He grabbed her arm and dragged her into the room.  “Look who I got, young signore.”  

Arthur stood up slowly, his gloved hands resting on the desk.  His jaw was tight with tension and his blue eyes were cold as ice.  

The third man--the fat man in the white suit she remembered seeing with Louis--eyed Felicity, then looked at Arthur.  “Your whore, I presume?”

“She works here,” Arthur gritted out.  “What did you hear?”

Felicity’s mouth felt very, very dry.  She was in so much trouble--especially facing someone she thought  actually cared about her only to realize he didn’t . . . 

If she told them what she had heard, they would have no reason to not kill her.  She had to hope that telling them nothing meant they would keep her alive long enough to--well, she didn’t know if she could think her way out of this, but she would have to.  

Licking her lips, she spoke slowly.  “None of your beeswax.”  

Louis squeezed her upper arm hard.  “Answer the question, or we’ll make you a lot less pretty.”  

She didn’t pay any attention to Louis, even though she winced at the pressure he was putting on her arm.  Instead, she didn’t look away from Arthur.  Silently pleading with him to not hurt her.  She might have misjudged who he was--but she knew this couldn’t be who Arthur really was.  Whatever role he might play in the Italian mob, he was her friend.

With his scarred face and the shadow of his hat hiding his expression, Felicity wasn’t sure what Arthur was thinking or feeling.  Not until he spoke.

“We’ll take her to my father.”  

That . . . that didn’t sound good.  “No--no, Arthur,” she asked, struggling in Louis’s grip, trying to break free.

“Arthur?” Louis asked in confusion, but Felicity managed to yank her arm free.  Acting on instinct, she turned and took two steps towards the door, but then she saw stars and fell to her knees, her head pounding.  

Then there was nothing but darkness.

XXX

Returning to consciousness happened so slowly, it took some time for Felicity to realize she was awake.  Or perhaps it was because she was in the dark and her vision was blurry when she opened her eyes.  

Her glasses had vanished.  Her head throbbed in time with her heartbeat--and the pain intensified when she moved her head.  Felicity squeezed her eyes shut and breathed slowly, waiting for the pain to fade.

What had happened?  

Oh, her head  _ really  _ hurt.  This was the worst hangover ever--but wait.  No.  She hadn’t been drinking.  The last thing she remembered, she had been looking for her purse . . . 

Felicity’s eyes snapped open and she tried to stand up, only to realize she was tied to a chair.  The Round Table, Arthur, Louis--

They had knocked her out.  Knocked her out and tied her up.  Because she wouldn't tell them what she had heard.  When she had heard Arthur talk about an important mob meeting . . . tomorrow?

She wished her hands were free so she could rub her forehead.  Scratch that, she wished her hands were free so she could get out of here and find Oliver.  Or hug her mother, or help Caitlin sew her wedding dress, or any of a million other things.

Mostly, she wanted to go find Oliver.  To tell him that she understood now what he had meant about the danger.  To explain she was only willing to face the danger with him, because together they were stronger.  To make him see that this past month apart had been due to her own stubbornness and she didn’t want to spend another minute apart from him.  

A metallic creak made her jerk her head up, then grit her teeth at the wave of pain the movement had caused.  A light off to her right drew her eyes, and Felicity slowly turned her head, squinting to see more.  

It was a person, carrying some kind of lamp or lantern, she guessed.  They came close, then the light lowered--as if the lamp was being set on the ground.  There was the rustle of cloth, and then she felt her glasses being carefully slid onto her face.  

So she could see it was Arthur.  

“Get away from me,” she hissed, glaring up at him.  

“Felicity, quiet,” he said, crouching down in front of her.  “I know how this looks--”

“Are you trying to say it’s not how it looks?  Because it looks like you played me for a fool.  And now I'm tied up to a chair, and God only knows what will happen to me.  I don’t know why you've done this, but you’re not the man I thought you were,” Felicity retorted.  

Arthur let out a sigh and straightened up.  “I promise you, I’m someone you can trust.  I just need you to stay patient for a little while longer.”

There were so many things she wanted to say to him, she couldn’t put them in any kind of order and get them out.  Felicity settled for sending him her iciest, most intimidating glare.  It seemed to work, because Arthur shrunk into himself and took a step back.  

“I’m sorry, Felicity,” he said quietly.

Her mind was still tangled up with too many thoughts, so she didn’t get a chance to respond before the door clanged open again and the sound of footsteps and muted conversations filled the room.  

As a large group of men entered the building, Felicity looked around slowly, taking advantage of the light.  She--they--were in a large room with high ceilings.  A warehouse, it was some kind of warehouse.  And . . . And she had to think that the men who had just come in were mobsters. 

At the front of the group was Malcolm Merlyn. 

Felicity drew in a breath.  She wasn't exactly surprised that Mr. Merlyn was a criminal, a gangster, but she didn't understand why she was here.  Arthur had said she would be taken to meet his father . . . was that Mr. Merlyn?  Having grown up in Starling City, she had known Mr. Merlyn to only have one son.  A son who had been dead for two or three years. 

Perhaps Arthur was an illegitimate child?  Given his scars, it made sense that no one knew about him publicly.  Why had Arthur asked her all those questions about Oliver, then?  And acted like he knew Oliver? 

With her pounding head, all these unknowns were even harder to figure out.  She wished she could drink some cool water and lie down in her bed.  

Mr. Merlyn was talking to a few men, apparently unaware of her.  Which didn't seem like a good sign.  When he swept his gaze around the warehouse, and his cold blue eyes landed on her, Felicity wished he still hadn't noticed her. 

“What is this?”

“We caught her eavesdropping at the Round Table,” Louis volunteered.  “Young signore said to bring her here, il capo.”

Mr. Merlyn turned towards Arthur.  “What were you thinking?” His voice was hard and harsh, without a hint of love or kindness. 

Arthur shifted his feet.  “She wouldn't tell us how much she heard.  The Round Table wasn't secure, so I knocked her out and brought her here.  Tomorrow is too important to be jeopardized by a little blonde girl.”

Felicity actually opened her mouth to protest being called a little blonde girl, like she was some kind of child, but she immediately thought the better of it.  Instead, she watched Arthur carefully.  There was something about him right now, a quality she didn't understand.  Like he was trying to act servile and submissive, even scared of Mr. Merlyn.  The act had tiny little cracks in it, however, letting something like defiance peep through. 

“So you brought her here?” Mr. Merlyn said.  “Yet another brilliant example of leadership and decision-making from my son.”

No one rose to Arthur's defense.  In fact, the other men all seemed glad to see Arthur taken down a peg or two. 

“I put you in charge of this meeting so you would take some responsibility.  To see if you had what it took.  And at the first challenge, you come running to me to make your decisions.” 

Mr. Merlyn paced in front of Arthur, his hands clasped behind his back.  “Clearly, I need to hold your hand through everything.  To think my son would need lessons in courage and conviction.  But I suppose it's my fault.  I allowed your mother to hold too much sway when you were young.  I didn't teach you those lessons then, so I have to teach you now.  And adults are so hard to teach.” Mr. Merlyn paused and eyed Arthur.  “Especially when they aren't that bright.”

A strange, unexpected pang of sympathy came over Felicity.  If this was how his own father treated him, maybe his betrayal made more sense.  This feeling of compassion couldn’t blind her to what Arthur had done, though--or to the fact that the situation looked grim for her. 

“You can barely keep the Round Table operating at a profit--let alone do as you were told, to run Oliver Queen out of business.  Instead you start selling him quality liquor at cut-rate prices--oh, yes, I knew about that,” Mr. Merlyn said, sounding like he was glad to be enumerating all of Arthur's faults.  “Then you couldn't stop this Hood character or even find out who he really is.  And now, on the verge of a war that will put us in charge of Starling City, you're letting this girl get in the way of everything?  Why didn't you blow her brains out?”

“Because I have information!”

As soon as the words were out of her mouth, Felicity wished she could take them back.  She had no plan, no support--she was all alone in this. 

The fate of Starling City hung in the balance, though.  It was her home, and she wanted to make a difference.  

Mr. Merlyn turned to face her, a withering look on his face.  “ _ You  _ have information?” he asked, the scorn practically dripping from his words.  “A waitress in one of my clubs.”  His forehead wrinkled.  “What’s your name?  Smith or something like that?”

“Smoak--Felicity Smoak,” she told him.  “You hired me.  Maybe you don’t remember, Mr. Merlyn, but I told you when you hired me that I used to work at Verdant,” she reminded him, a plan slowly coming together in her mind. 

“Well, when I heard your son talking to his men tonight, and I knew you were interested in Verdant, I saw a chance to make a name for myself,” she continued.  “Make a little extra dough.  But your boys didn't even let me explain before they knocked me out and brought me here.”

Over Mr. Merlyn’s shoulder, Felicity could see Arthur listening.  It was a risk, hoping he would go along with her story, but right now it was the best possible risk. 

Mr. Merlyn looked at his son, who immediately adopted a sheepish expression.  Rolling his eyes, the head gangster returned his attention to Felicity. 

“So what is this information?” he said in an amused tone of voice.  Like he was humoring her. 

“I learned a lot when I was at Verdant,” Felicity said.  “All the entrances and exits, even the secret ones.  Where Mr. Queen keeps his cash, how many men he has working--anything you’d need to know if you wanna take over a joint.  Or if you wanted to cause a little destruction, get what I mean?”

Felicity had no intention of telling Malcolm Merlyn anything. She had to act like she would, had to show she had the kind of information that was worth keeping her alive.  At least it could buy enough time for them to leave her alone so she could come up with a plan.  Hopefully, Arthur would hang around so they could talk--so she could beg him to go to Oliver. 

Everything rested on a lot of hope, but hope was all she had at the moment. 

“You really expect me to believe you know all that?  You’re just a waitress,” Mr. Merlyn countered. 

“I’m a waitress who noticed things,” Felicity said.  

To her surprise--and Mr. Merlyn’s, too--Arthur spoke up.  “She’s been a real nosy one.  The boys have all seen her trying to listen in on conversations.”

There were a few quiet murmurs of agreement from the men.  Mr. Merlyn looked at Felicity for a long moment, then shrugged.  “Very well.  We’ll see about this information of yours later.”  

He turned on his heel and started walking towards the door.  Louis bent down and picked up the lamp, following Mr. Merlyn.  

“Later?” Felicity called out.  She tugged at her bonds.  “Hey, what gives?”

Mr. Merlyn paused and looked at her over his shoulder.  “I don’t have the time to deal with you now.”

“Then how about untying me?” she asked, fear washing over her.  She didn’t want to be left here, alone, in the dark . . . 

“You’re lying to me, Miss Smoak.  It’s written all over your face.  Whatever angle you’re playing, I think it’s best if you just stay right where you are, until I’ve handled my more pressing business,” Mr. Merlyn said.  “Let this be a lesson to you about lying.”  

Felicity felt panic rising up inside her.  She sunk her teeth into her lower lip to hold back the whimper that wanted to burst free as Louis stepped through the door with the lamp, the rest of the men leaving without a backwards glance.  Arthur paused in the doorway, then he moved over towards her and leaned down.  Felicity felt a slackening around her wrists, then her ankles.  

“I’m not going to tell him anything,” Felicity whispered.  “Just--please--I’m begging you.  Find Oliver and tell him I’m here.”

“I can’t,” Arthur said, his voice sad but very, very final.  

“Please,” she repeated, looking up at him.  

Arthur didn’t say anything more.  He just walked away.  There was a moment when he paused in the doorway and looked back at her, but her vision had gone blurry despite her glasses, thanks to the tears in her eyes.  

Then he closed the door and there was nothing but darkness.

XXX

The passage of time went on, unmarked and unknown to Felicity.  She suspected it had been several hours, nearly a full day since she had woken up in this warehouse.  There was no way to be sure--there were no windows in this warehouse, no way to know what time it was.  Her hunger had faded from sharp stabbing pains to a dull ache.  Her full bladder had finally overwhelmed her embarrassment and she had relieved herself in one corner of the warehouse.  

Arthur choosing to release her from her bonds, so she wasn’t sitting in urine-soaked clothes, was something she was grateful for, yet it wasn’t enough.  Not with what she had endured during these unknown hours.  As much as the physical discomfort to the point of pain, even worse was the mental strain and struggle.  It was difficult to keep her mind from wandering towards the worst outcomes and possibilities.

What must her mother be thinking, having returned home with no sign of Felicity?  She had made plans with Barry, to have lunch with him--had he noticed, or gotten distracted with another one of his experiments?  What about her other friends--what would they think as days passed without any word from her?  

Would Oliver find out she was missing?  Would he care?  

Felicity kept trying to stay positive, to not give in to despair, but it was so hard.  She tried to sleep, but no sooner had she drifted off than she would snap awake, some small noise or discomfort waking her up.  Eventually, she just gave up and sat in the chair, her arms wrapped around herself as she shivered, the cold November air filling the warehouse.  

When the door opened, sending a faint shaft of light into the room, Felicity didn't believe it was real at first.  She had imagined this before.  When the door stayed open, she worked up her courage to move closer.  Her muscles were stiff and sore, but as she drew closer, the tightness eased. 

And the door was still open. 

Feeling a wild rush of hope, Felicity broke into a run.  She was only a few steps from the door when a large, solid figure appeared in the doorway, blocking the way out.  She skidded, trying to stop, but she still thumped into the man’s chest. 

“Who's dis?” the man said, large meaty hands grabbing her upper arms while turning to speak to someone behind him--someone that Felicity couldn’t see around his bulk. 

“Oh, right, our little eavesdropper, Miss Smoak.  I had forgotten about you.”  Mr. Merlyn sounded like he was gloating.  As if he wanted her to realize he was so busy, he  _ could _ forget holding a young woman captive.  

He stepped out from behind the giant who was holding on to Felicity.  “You somehow got free from your bonds, I see.  How resourceful of you.  Tiny, tie her back up, then take her to the basement.”

A basement?  This warehouse was already a den of misery--a basement would be a hundred times worse. 

She started struggling, trying to break free.  Her strength, as little as it was, had been sapped by a day without food or water. 

Something cold and hard and metallic pressed against her temple and Felicity froze. 

“I don't care much for guns,” Mr. Merlyn said.  “But they are very useful in times like these.  You will stay still, or else I will kill you.”

It took everything she had not to sob, but Felicity stayed perfectly still. 

“Good girl,” Mr. Merlyn said, lowering the gun from her head as Louis came into view.  “Tiny, get to it.  Where is my idiot son?”

“We do not know, il capo,” Louis replied. 

Tiny marched her back into the warehouse towards her chair, Mr.  Merlyn and his men swarming around them to also go inside.  At the same time, Felicity saw other men coming into the warehouse, from a now-open set of exterior doors.  It looked like it was night--she could see the faint glow of streetlights through the doors. 

The men walking in now looked rougher, harder.  Compared to Mr. Merlyn and his men, who were all wearing suits, these other men were dressed like members of the working class, in trousers and shirts, suspenders and thick-soled boots. 

They must be the Irish mob, Felicity realized.  The meeting would be starting any minute--Mr. Merlyn really  _ had _ forgotten about her. 

He . . . he really was going to kill her.  Because she didn't matter in the slightest. 

A small sob escaped her lips and Tiny pushed against her back.  “Go pick up dat chair and carry dit.  Wid your hands full, you don’t do nothin’, see?”

Felicity did as he told her, trying to hold back her tears.  Had she remembered to kiss her mother, the last time she had seen her?  Would they at least get her body to her, or give Donna some indication of what had happened to her daughter? 

The chair wasn't heavy.  Felicity carried it in front of her, her head bowed.  A few of the Irish whistled or made lewd comments, but Felicity barely noticed.  She was too caught up in carrying this chair and putting one foot in front of the other. 

The door through which she had tried to escape loomed before her.  Felicity felt like time had slowed down and she was moving through molasses.  Tiny prodded her between her shoulder blades in an unspoken command to keep moving. 

And then a gunshot split the air with a loud crack, along with the cries of two men.  The world came back into focus for Felicity and she whirled around.  

Most of the men, Irish and Italian, were looking around in confusion, although some had started to run towards the door that Felicity and Tiny were standing in front of.  It took a moment to see why: one man was bleeding on the floor and groaning and another man was writhing with an arrow in his leg.  

An arrow . . . Oliver!

Another gunshot echoed in the room and another man went down, followed quickly by two more felled by arrows.  Felicity felt joy and hope bubble up inside her.  Oliver was coming!  

Without a second thought, she shifted her grip on her chair and lifted it in the air.  Tiny looked at her, his eyes wide and surprised when she made contact with his side.  Neither Tiny nor the chair seemed to have suffered any, but then several gunshots were fired and everyone in the room seemed to start firing.  

Felicity didn’t know what to do.  Scratch that--she knew what she wanted to do: run as fast as she could towards Oliver.  Without getting hit, since the bullets flying around the room--not to mention arrows--made it too dangerous to be out in the open.  Maybe, if she kept towards the wall, she could follow it around the warehouse towards the exterior door, where Oliver must be fighting his way inside.  She wasn’t sure who was backing him up with the gunfire, but she just hoped they knew not to shoot at her if she got close to Oliver.  

Kicking off the flimsy high heels she was wearing, Felicity crouched low and kept close to the wall, trying not to attract any attention.  The need to be careful and slow warred with her desire to get to Oliver, to wrap her arms around him, to kiss him, to tell him she was sorry . . . 

Suddenly, a man in green appeared in the large exterior doorway.  A hood covered his head and part of his face.  In his hands was a bow with an arrow already in place.

It was the Hood.  It was Oliver.  

Feeling on the verge of crying, completely overwhelmed, Felicity stepped away from the wall, running towards the light, running towards Oliver.  His arrow pointed at her for a split-second, and then it immediately lowered.  A huge smile split his face, and Felicity knew she was smiling just as widely as they moved towards each other.  

But suddenly Oliver’s smile disappeared and his bow came back up.  Felicity felt confused, and then there was a hand in her hair, yanking her head back against a man’s chest, and yet again, a gun pressed against her temple.

“Take another step and this woman’s blood will be on your hands,” Malcolm Merlyn said coldly.

End, Chapter 9

  
  



	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There’s not much time left for Oliver, with Tommy and Digg’s help, to save Felicity. Will he succeed? Enjoy the last full chapter of this fic--next Monday, I will be posting the epilogue!

 

For a long moment, Oliver could only stare at his best friend.  His best friend, a man Oliver had thought was dead for nearly three years, was standing in front of him, covered in scars, but still with the same eyes.

“Tommy,” he said, hearing the awe he felt reflected in his voice.    

The scars on Tommy’s face covered one of his cheeks and his forehead, going down his neck as best as Oliver can tell.  On that side of his face, his mouth was twisted down, giving him a forlorn look.  When he smiled weakly, there was something about it that made Oliver realize that it truly was Tommy.  He was alive.  

Meanwhile, he was just standing like a statue, staring at Tommy.  

Shaking himself out of his stupor, Oliver stepped forward and wrapped his arms around Tommy.  He hugged him tightly, taking so much pleasure in having him here, even with everything else that was going on.  

Tommy seemed equally emotional about it, because he hugged Oliver back just as hard.

Finally, they each let go and took a step back.  “I . . . I didn't think I'd get that kind of reception from you,” Tommy said, his smile more sheepish than Oliver had ever remembered.  It still lit up his face and made his blue eyes sparkle. 

“Really?  You're still my best friend, Tommy,” Oliver replied, meaning every word.  Yes, he had developed a bond with Digg that went beyond friendship, a partnership which had helped keep him going in some low spots.  But Tommy . . . it was different with him. 

Tommy's smile disappeared.  “You might not think so after tonight.  After what I have to tell you.”

Some of Oliver's glee faded at the serious note in his friend's voice.  He swallowed.  “Laurel?”

With a slow shake of Tommy’s head, Oliver understood.  There had only been one miracle.  Stepping forward, he rested a hand on Tommy's shoulder.  “It wasn't your fault.  If I had just listened to Laurel and taken Sara home right away--”

“No, Ollie, it  _ was _ my fault.  If Laurel hadn't been with me in the car--if I hadn't been so in love with her I was ready to betray my best friend--she would still be alive today,” Tommy contradicted, in a tone filled with bitterness.  “My fault and my father's.”

Oliver felt knocked for a loop.  Tommy had been in love with Laurel?  He wanted to go over his memories, to search for the clues towards Tommy's feelings, but his mention of Malcolm brought Oliver back to their present situation. 

Digg, who had been standing quietly towards the side, stepped forward.  “You said your father has Felicity,” he reiterated. 

“Yes, he does,” Tommy said, looking like he was hating himself for something.  “I had to turn her over to him, after she overheard about the big meeting tonight, and--”

He didn't get to say anymore, because Oliver had gripped the lapels of his coat and yanked him close. 

“You did  _ what _ ?” Oliver barked, right into Tommy's face.  Tommy was working for Malcolm?  Had he found out who Felicity was to Oliver and saw his chance to get his revenge on Oliver, for coming in second in the pursuit for Laurel’s heart? 

“Boss,” Digg said quietly in a warning.  Oliver heard him but didn't look away from Tommy. 

“I had to look like I was still on my father's side,” Tommy said, no fear in his voice.  “If I handed her over, I could watch her until I could come to you, so you could rescue her.  I can take you to where she is.”

It took a moment for Oliver to tamp down his emotions and see the logic and strategy in Tommy’s choice.  Then he took a breath and nodded before he left go of his coat.  “So where is she?”

“A warehouse at the corner of Twelfth and Adams,” Tommy said.  “The same place my father is holding an ostensibly friendly meeting with the Irish tonight.”

“But actually he was going to set them up, and eliminate a troublesome lieutenant, all to start a mob war that would leave him in control of Starling City,” Oliver said, quoting from the information Lance had given him. 

Tommy looked surprised.  “You knew about the meeting?”

“Why do you think we're dressed like this?” Oliver replied, gesturing to his green hooded suit and Digg’s black clothes and balaclava. 

“We should get moving,” Digg advised. 

Oliver nodded.  “Digg, you drive.”  He looked at Tommy, then turned and followed Digg.  Tommy brought up the rear in silence, letting Oliver have a moment to process all this.  To deal with Tommy being here, with what he was doing for his father, with the stakes being so much higher now.  It wasn't just the fate of his city in the balance. 

It was also the life of the woman he loved. 

Once they were all in the car and driving towards the warehouse, Oliver was ready with the questions that needed answering now. 

“How is Felicity?” he asked first, feeling that same stab of longing and regret when he spoke her name. 

“When I left an hour ago, she was fine.  She'll be hungry and thirsty, but no one's laid a hand on her.  My father was too distracted by the meeting to do anything with her,” Tommy answered, his voice tinged with regret. 

Swallowing, Oliver nodded.  If Felicity was all right, relatively speaking, he could focus on coming up with a plan.  First . . . “What happened to you?”

Tommy looked down and fidgeted with his hat, crushing the soft felt and then reshaping it.  “My father has been involved with the mafia since not long after my mother's death.  He went to Italy because he wanted to learn how to get revenge on her murderer, and he decided becoming a member of the mafia was the best way to learn what he needed to know.  He rose up through the ranks, but there was one problem:  his son had no interest in it.  So he made it so I would have to work with him.”

The bitterness in Tommy's words affected Oliver even as he analyzed what he had said.  “The accident report said it looked like you had been forced off the road.”

“We were,” Tommy replied quietly.  “Malcolm didn't count on two things, though.  That I had a passenger, or that the gas tank would rupture and catch fire as quickly as it did.”

He slowly lifted his eyes to lock onto Oliver’s.  “His men pulled me out of the wreckage and left another body.  With Laurel.  I could hear her screams . . .”  His words trailed off and he looked down, a choked sob escaping his lips. 

“Tommy,” Oliver said sharply.  He wished he could comfort Tommy right now, but they couldn't afford to have their greatest resource incapacitated with grief.  The misery and heartbreak were all too clear in his friend, so Oliver rested a hand on his shoulder.  “Hey,” he said softly.  “I need you here.  Felicity needs you here.  The Little John to my Robin Hood--you remember?”

His head still lowered, Tommy nodded.  He sucked in a breath and wiped at his eyes before he straightened up in his seat.  “Yeah, I remember.  Although I think it was the other way around.”

“In your dreams, Merlyn,” Oliver retorted automatically.  He couldn't help grinning at Tommy.  If this horrible situation was the way he had regained his best friend, he would take it.  Only if Felicity was all right. 

“What's the plan?” Oliver asked Tommy. 

“The Irish are coming into the warehouse through the hidden delivery doors,” Tommy said.  “I thought we could just come up behind them and start shooting.  Create confusion, grab Felicity, and get out.”

From behind the steering wheel, Digg glanced over at them.  “What if Felicity isn't where you left her?”

“There's nowhere else she could be,” Tommy insisted.  “I'm telling you, she'll be there.  This isn't a trap, Ollie.”

Oliver looked at Digg, meeting his gaze.  Seeing the silent questions and doubts in his partner’s face.  Then he turned to Tommy.  

“I’m telling the truth.  I’ve been trying to keep you safe ever since you came back to Starling City,” Tommy continued.  “One night early on, when you first started going around as the Hood, I got some of Malcolm’s goons off your back.  And who do you think is Friar Tuck?”

“I’ll be damned,” Oliver said.  

He opened his mouth to ask why Tommy about Friar Tuck, but paused.  At this moment, he shouldn’t be thinking about Tommy, or worrying about Felicity.  He should be thinking only of the mission, strategizing and making plans. Although maybe having Tommy here, asking those questions about him, was helpful--because it kept him from losing his mind over Felicity.

He didn’t know how long she had been in Malcolm’s clutches, but even a second was too long.  Felicity was so bright and good; even Malcolm must realize that.  For someone so dark and twisted and evil like Malcolm, how would being in the presence of such purity make him react?  Oliver didn’t know, but ever since he had received the news about his former girlfriend--and ongoing love of his life--there had been a tightening string inside him, one that was distracting him from what he should do. 

“There’s a set of external doors to the warehouse where everything is happening,” Tommy said, making Oliver focus on something other than the ache in his chest.  “They open onto an alley that’s lightly guarded.  Once the Irish are inside, we take out the guards, then move through those doors into the warehouse.  We get Felicity out and take out as many of the gangsters as we can.” 

It seemed sound, but Oliver wasn’t feeling very certain right now.  It wouldn’t matter if he was walking straight to his death, if it gave him the chance to save Felicity.  Taking a few deep breaths, he looked at Digg, because he was the only person he could rely on at this moment.  “What do you think?”

Digg pursed his lips.  “It’s not the best plan, but we don’t really have the time to come up with anything better.”  He looked over at Tommy.  “You got a gun?  And know how to use it?” 

With a nod, Tommy reached one hand into his coat pocket and the other into a pocket underneath the coat.  He withdrew two guns, ones that Oliver could recognize as Colts, although one was smaller and presumably less powerful than the other.  

“Colt 1911 and a 1908 Vest Pocket.  Those will work.  You got enough ammo?” Digg asked, sounding more confident.  

Tommy nodded again and returned his guns to his pockets.  “There’s probably about ten to fifteen Irish at the meeting, and around the same number of Italians with my father.  This meeting is important to organized crime throughout the rest of the country, so there’s more men attending than is normal, or so I’ve been told.”  

They were going up against thirty men, all of whom would be armed.  The odds were bad enough if they were just trying to interrupt the meeting--but saving Felicity, too?  

Oliver shifted and took a deep breath.  It didn’t matter how high the deck was stacked against them--nothing was going to change his mind.  Nothing was going to stop him.  

Tonight, he not only had gotten his best friend back.  He had the chance to save the woman he love and make a big blow against organized crime--a big enough one that he might be able to step down. To let the police handle the Glades and crime.

“We’re here, boss,” Digg said softly.  

Looking around, he saw that Digg had parked the car in the mouth of an alley, half a block from the corner of Twelfth and Adams.  Close, but not too close, and ready for a quick getaway.

“I’ll take point.  Digg and Tommy, cover me.  When we get inside, Tommy will start looking for Felicity and give her cover to get out,” Oliver said.  “Once Felicity’s out of the warehouse, we’ll fall back and meet here.”

“Understood,” Digg replied, getting out of the car.  Tommy made to do the same, but Oliver stopped him with a hand on his shoulder.  

“Thank you, Tommy.  I can’t imagine the risk you took, helping me and then doing what you could to keep Felicity safe.  After tonight, we’ll keep you safe.”  

For a long moment, Tommy looked at him.  There was an unreadable emotion in his eyes, and Oliver couldn't yet look at Tommy's new face and understand his expression.  Maybe it was hopeful, maybe it was regretful--Oliver wasn't sure.  But then Tommy said, “It's time.  Let's go, Robin Hood.”

As tempting as it was to correct him just like Oliver always corrected Digg when it came to his alternate persona’s name, or joke about Tommy finally accepting his role as Little John, Oliver didn't do either. 

Because it was time. 

XXX

To preserve some degree of stealth, Oliver took out the advance guards stationed around the warehouse with arrows to their knees.  Anyone who tried to warn those in the warehouse got a second arrow, and this time it was a lethal one.  Six men were already eliminated by the time the three of them drew close to the warehouse. 

As Tommy had said, two large doors were opened onto the alley, allowing admittance to the warehouse.  Oliver paused to make sure Tommy and Digg were ready, weapons in their hands.  Then, with a nod to each as they took cover behind some crates, Oliver began walking towards the doors, firing arrows.  

This close, the men gathered inside could see something happening in the alley.  They began rushing towards the doors, forming a solid mass of humanity.  Just like Oliver had expected. 

“Now!” he bellowed, firing arrows as fast as he could.  Another five men had been dropped by the time Digg was in position and let off his first shot.  Tommy fired, too, hitting a man dead-center in the chest. 

The gunshots made the mobsters scramble back from the doors, retreating into the warehouse for cover.  Before they got back inside, Oliver and his partners had to take out as many of them as possible.  Stepping to one side of the door, Oliver kept firing arrows at the men closest to the door, as Tommy and Digg, crouched on the other side, aimed their guns.  

Bullets began flying towards them, changing the dynamics of the fight.  They couldn’t stay out here, exposed like this.  If they wanted to find Felicity, they had to keep advancing.  

Oliver looked over at Digg.  “How many down?” he yelled, peeking around the corner and managing to hit another goon.  

“With that one, about fifteen!” Digg called out.  

Supposedly, that meant they had cut the mob’s numbers in half, but Oliver wasn’t so sure about that.  What could he do otherwise, though?  He had to find Felicity.  

“Lay down some fire, I’m going in!” Oliver shouted to Digg and Tommy as he nocked an arrow.  Bending his knees as much as he could, getting low so Digg and Tommy could stand and fire, Oliver edged closer to the door.  He got off a few shots, taking down a few men as Digg and Tommy dropped the same number.  

It seemed like a lull fell at that moment--perhaps the gangsters were pausing to take stock as they reloaded.  There was no time to waste.

Standing up to his full height, using every bit of intimidation his size and his hood gave him, Oliver strode into the warehouse.  With an arrow in place, he swept his gaze around the warehouse.  There was little light inside; all there was came from an open doorway at the far end and the streetlamps just outside the exterior doors behind him.  It took a moment for his eyes to adjust, seeing the bodies spread before him on the ground and the mobsters at the far end of the room.  They seemed to be holding back for some reason--if they were petty street criminals, he would think they were scared of him, but Oliver counted at least ten men.  More than he could take at once, even with Digg and Tommy’s help.  

Before he could puzzle out the reason for such behavior, he saw movement to his left.  Oliver turned, ready to fire, but then he realized who it was.  

Felicity was wearing a thin yellow dress and shivering. Her hair was a fuzzy blonde halo around her head and her feet were bare. But she was smiling at him, like she didn’t have a care in the world.  Like nothing else mattered except seeing him.  

He felt the same way.  A smile of his own spread across his face as he let his bow fall to his side and he started striding towards her, so ready to hold her and get her out of here.  

A shadow crossed behind Felicity and Oliver lifted his bow, but he was too late.  Malcolm Merlyn grabbed her, pulling her back against his chest and pressing a revolver against Felicity’s temple.  

“Take another step and this woman’s blood will be on your hands,” Merlyn said, a sadistic glee underlying the coldness in his voice.

What could he do?  He had to stop.  It was Felicity.

“Hold him!” Malcolm ordered his goons.  The men hurried across the warehouse, the first taking Oliver’s bow and then two large, beefy men holding his arms firmly.  

“You weren’t alone.  Tell them to come out, or Miss Smoak will be the one to pay the price,” Malcolm told him.  

Felicity’s hands went to the arm Malcolm had around her shoulders, tugging at it ineffectively.  There was no way Felicity would have been able to free herself from Malcolm’s hold, even before being held in this drafty warehouse without food or water.   

Malcolm pressed the gun harder against her skin and Felicity let out a soft gasp that was almost a whimper.  “What did I tell you, Miss Smoak?” he said to her.  Oliver felt his whole body tense at the disdain in his words--because if Malcolm truly didn’t care about Felicity’s welfare, he wouldn’t hesitate to pull that trigger.  

“There’s no need to harm her,” Oliver insisted in his Hood voice, hearing how it crackled with emotion as he tried to keep Malcolm’s attention on him while hiding Felicity’s importance to him.  “They’re just outside the door.”  He jerked his head backwards, indicating the doors onto the alley.  

At a look from Malcolm, several men ran for the alley.  After a few moments, during which the sound of punches landing against flesh was audible even from this distance, the mobsters dragged Digg into the warehouse.  

“This is the only one, il capo,” said a dark, slight man to Malcolm.

Oliver tried not to let his shock and disappointment show.  Where was Tommy?  Had he run as soon as Oliver entered the warehouse?  Was this a trap, all of Tommy’s assurances to the contrary?  

Digg was brought to stand beside Oliver.  They couldn’t talk, but Oliver could look at Digg and see no signs of anger or betrayal in his face.  Instead, there was resignation and determination.

Perhaps Tommy hadn’t run . . . but where was he?  

“This is it?” Malcolm sneered.  “And to think, every criminal in the Glades has been shaking in his shoes about the Hood.”  

“Malcolm Merlyn, you have failed this city,” Oliver rasped.  “You have me--let the woman go, and we can make a deal.”  

The last thing he wanted was to enter into any kind of agreement with Malcolm.  Not when he knew Malcolm would double-cross him at the first chance.  He just needed Felicity to be away from all of this, so she wouldn’t have to see what he would have to do . . . 

“Oh, and with such a fine offer, I’m bound to accept, is that what you think?” Malcolm sneered.  “But let me break it to you: I have all the leverage in this situation.  Or are you willing to let this woman lose her head?”

“She’s an innocent!  She doesn’t have to die,” Oliver said, hoping the trembling he could hear in his voice wasn’t so obvious to Malcolm.  

“Innocent or not, I don’t care.”  Malcolm began backing up slowly, glancing back over his shoulder as he dragged Felicity with him.  He seemed to be making for the interior door, but Oliver couldn’t allow him to get there.  The best-case scenario was Malcolm taking Felicity with him, using her for cover--until she became too much of a burden and he would just shoot her before escaping.  At this point, Oliver didn’t care if Malcolm got away, but nothing could happen to Felicity.

_ Nothing _ .

Oliver began struggling in the grip of the men holding him.  “No!  I’ll give you anything you want!  I’ll tell you how I knew about the meeting tonight--I’ll tell you who I am!”

“No--don’t do this!” Digg hissed.  

Turning to his partner, Oliver gave him a look of apology.  “I have to.  It’s Felicity,” he muttered in a low voice, before directing his attention back to Malcolm.  “Did you hear me?” he yelled in his Hood voice.  “I’ll tell you who I really am.  You must be curious to know who nearly took down your network--who interfered with your big meeting.  It can’t be good for your position, getting shown up by someone like me.”  

Malcolm had stopped, then he advanced towards Oliver, dragging Felicity with him.  After a moment, he rolled his eyes and shoved Felicity towards the small dark man.  “Louis, watch her.  Keep a gun to her head.”  

“Yes, il capo,” Louis said, his eyes running over Felicity.  Instead of wrapping an arm around her shoulders, Louis slid his hand deep into Felicity’s hair, gripping the back of her head as he jammed his derringer against her cheek.  

Both Oliver and Digg struggled until one of the men holding Digg pistol-whipped him.  Digg sank to his knees, looking dazed but still conscious.  

_ Damn it _ , Oliver thought.  They were getting sloppy, getting emotional.  Now Digg was down for the count.  He couldn’t let anything happen to himself.  Felicity was counting on him.  

Taking a breath, Oliver did his best to shove his emotions down deep.  He watched as Malcolm approached, a gleefully sadistic glint in his eyes.  

“Let’s see who you are, and if you’re so eager to fight without that hood,” Malcolm said.  

It felt like time slowed down as Malcolm’s hand raised, reaching for Oliver’s hood.  He could feel the touch of his fingers against the material when a loud gunshot made everyone startle.  

Felicity screamed.  

Oliver’s eyes locked on her, his heart beating fast.  She was crouching on the floor, her hands over her face.  Crimson stained her hair on the left side of her head: blood from the man who was now lying on the ground, his head blown off.  

“Step away from the Hood.”  Tommy’s voice rang out through the warehouse, in a commanding tone Oliver had never heard before.  He stepped into the light, standing beside Felicity, his gun held in his outstretched hand.

Felicity hesitantly looked through her fingers, her gaze meeting Oliver’s.  Then she turned and looked up towards Tommy.  “Arthur?” she asked, her voice broken.  

Everything in Oliver recoiled at hearing Felicity sound like that.  Hearing the fear and terror in her voice . . . he jerked his arms, trying to break free from the men holding him.

“Actually, it’s Tommy,” he said, looking down at Felicity and holding a hand out to her.  

“Tommy?” she repeated, using his hand to slowly rise to her feet.  

He nodded as he drew her behind him.  Then Tommy looked back towards Malcolm, Oliver, and the rest of the mobsters.  “Dad, unless you want your men to know all your dirty laundry, tell them to scram.”  

Malcolm huffed.  “Like how much of a disappointment my son is to me?  That’s no secret.”  

With the scars on his face, Tommy looked tougher.  Harder.  That impression didn’t change when he smiled.  It wasn’t a smile of pleasure or happiness.  No, it was a smile of a man ready to take his revenge.  

“What about the secret deal with the Irish?  The one that meant a lot more deaths, and not just Louis’s?”  Tommy casually kicked the head of the dead man before him.  “See where ambition gets you, boys?”

A mutter went through Malcolm’s men as they took in Tommy’s words.  Malcolm didn’t allow the conversations to take root.  He almost immediately turned towards his men.  “All right, you’re all dismissed.  Let go of the Hood and his associate.  We’ll reconvene in the morning and discuss what comes next.”  

It wasn’t hard to hear the bluster in Malcolm’s voice.  The surprise.  Clearly, he hadn’t expected Tommy to do something like this.  Which meant Oliver had something in common with Malcolm.  Because this wasn’t like the boy he had grown up with.

Maybe that boy, though, was the one who died in the car accident, leaving the man standing before him.  

The mobsters exchanged looks, but after that moment of hesitation, they acquiesced to Malcolm’s order.  The two goons holding his arms let go and Oliver turned, snatching his bow from the man holding it.  The man eyed Oliver, then shrugged his shoulders and followed the rest of the gangsters leaving the warehouse.  

Leaving just five people: Oliver and Digg on one side, Tommy and Felicity on the other, and Malcolm between them.  Malcolm stood with his hands held slightly away from his sides, the fingers spread wide.  Clearly he was hoping to look non-threatening, but Oliver didn’t trust him at all.  

“Let the woman and my partner go,” Oliver said, stepping forward.  He gripped his bow tightly, feeling a hundred times better for having it in his hand.  “He’s injured and she has no part in this.”  

Looking back and forth between Tommy and Oliver, Malcolm tsked.  “Such concern--it’s truly touching,” Malcolm said.

“Merlyn--” Oliver growled.

“Fine,” Malcolm said.  “It’s not like I have anything to defend myself with,” he added, lifting his hands higher.  

After a moment, Oliver looked over at Tommy, who nodded and stepped aside.  He leaned down to say something to her in a low voice, something she seemed to disagree with.  Instead of arguing, Felicity took Tommy’s hand and squeezed it before she turned and began walking towards Digg.  

As her feet closed the distance, moving closer, Oliver felt a chill go down his spine.  Something didn’t feel right--

Moving faster than Oliver realized he could, Malcolm slid forward and grabbed Felicity, who let out a shriek and fought against him as he once again pinned her back against his chest.  

Both Oliver and Tommy took steps forward, Oliver nocking an arrow and ready to take a shot.  Until he saw the gun in Malcolm’s hand, pointing at Felicity’s temple.

Damn it--they hadn’t searched Malcolm and in all the confusion, Oliver had forgotten about the gun he had been carrying before.  It was a stupid mistake.  A mistake that might cost Felicity her life.

“If at first you don’t succeed, try try again!” Malcolm crowed.  “Now, you’re going to let me walk to the alley.  Neither of you will try anything, or believe me, I will shoot this woman.  Or maybe you don’t believe me--well, try me, then.”  

Tightening his grip on his bow, Oliver looked at Tommy, trying to come up with a plan.  They had been so close . . . 

“What happens when you get to the alley?” Tommy asked, the smallest of breaks in his voice.  

“I haven’t decided yet,” Malcolm replied blithely.  “I might let her go--I might shoot her.  I might shoot you, my ungrateful son.”

“Ungrateful?!?” Tommy snapped, lifting his gun.  “ _ I’m _ ungrateful?”

Malcolm raised his eyebrows.  “What do you call it when a son throws back in his father’s face everything that he’s done for his only son?”  

Tommy let out a snort, lowering his gun.  “What  _ you  _ have done for  _ me _ ?”

Something about Tommy and Malcolm having an argument--an argument that was more than a little reminiscent of the ones they had in the past--made Oliver want to laugh.  It was only because of how long and crazy this night had been that his lips were twitching.  

Then he made eye contact with Felicity, who looked equally amused, and it was all Oliver could do not to grin at her.  

Even though she still had a gun pointed to her temple.   

What was happening to him?  Oliver gave his head a shake and focused.  Tommy and Malcolm were arguing, going at it tooth and nail.  

“You’re right.  You’ve finally proven yourself to be my son--but by sacrificing your only family.  When I did this all for you!  To avenge your mother, to provide for you!  And while I was doing that, you were working against me at every turn,” Malcolm said, spitting out the words.  “Working with the Hood--how could you, Tommy?” 

“Because what you’re doing is wrong, and I still have enough of a soul to realize that,” Tommy replied angrily, his voice raised.  “Let her go and you can do whatever you want to me.”  

“No!” Oliver yelled, Felicity’s own shout coming a moment after his.

There was no way Oliver would let Tommy sacrifice himself like this.  He had only just gotten his best friend back; he wasn’t ready to lose him again.  Even though Felicity had only just realized who Tommy was, of course she wouldn’t want him to give himself over to Malcolm.  Her heart was too big, she was too good to let anyone do that for her.  

Maybe there was a way he and Felicity could work together to get her free, taking advantage of Malcolm’s distraction as he kept arguing with Tommy.  

Taking a step to his right, Oliver paused and waited for any sign Malcolm had noticed his movement.  When he continued to yell at Tommy, Oliver took another step, trying to find a place where he could attract Felicity’s attention.  With Malcolm’s hand holding the gun pressing against the right side of her head, and with Malcolm and Tommy facing each other, it wasn’t going to be easy.  

Although this would be a lot harder if Felicity wasn’t wearing her glasses, so at least they had that on their side.  Not to mention his stubborn determination that nothing was going to happen to Felicity.  

After a few steps, he thought he had a chance.  So under cover of Malcolm yelling, Oliver whispered, “Felicity!”

Her head turned slightly, which made the muzzle of the gun, loosely held in Malcolm’s hand, shift on her temple.  Now if the gun fired, it would be only a glancing blow--something that reassured Oliver slightly.  

“On my signal,” he mouthed slowly, “drop.”

Felicity’s forehead creased.  “Drop?” she pantomimed, her lips moving in slow, large motions.

Giving her a small nod, Oliver checked on Malcolm and Tommy, who were still fighting--but it didn’t seem like it would be going much longer.  

Especially when Tommy raised his gun and pointed it at Malcolm.  “I’ve spent my whole life trying to make you notice me.  Trying to make you proud of me.  That’s over now!”

“Now!” Oliver yelled, lifting his bow, not caring if Malcolm heard him.  

On cue, Felicity pushed at Malcolm’s arm and dropped to the floor, covering her head with one of her arms as she used the other to help her crawl away, moving towards the still-dazed Digg.  Malcolm looked down at her, surprised.  By the time he looked up, both Tommy and Oliver had him in their sights.

Malcolm glared at Oliver and took a step towards him.  Oliver matched his step, holding his bow firmly in his hand as he pointed an arrow at Malcolm.  “Don’t move!” he growled.  

“You think you've won today,” Malcolm hissed.  “You haven't.  Because now, the war won't just be against the Irish.  No, you're going to regret your meddling,  _ Oliver _ .”

Oliver felt his blood run cold.  Malcolm knew his real identity.  He  _ knew _ . 

“Oh,yes, I know who you are, Hood.  I've known for weeks.”

“But--but how--why--” Oliver stuttered, unable to put his thoughts into words around his heart in his throat. 

He waved a hand in the air.  “I have my ways,” Malcolm replied.  “I told you that you would regret the day you refused to sell Verdant to me.  That will be nothing compared to what I'm going to do to you now.  I’m not going to touch you,” Malcolm said with a dark, sadistic glee.  

“Not until the very end, when you have no one left to lose and your city is in ruins, because of you.  Then I will kill you, Oliver Queen.”

Against his will, Oliver’s eyes flicked towards Felicity and Digg.  His bouncer was leaning against his love, neither of them taking advantage of the chance to get away.  Digg’s eyes still looked unfocused, but his presence gave the message that as long as he could, he was going to stay by Oliver's side. 

And Felicity . . . she hadn't left.  She had stayed, after such a horrible night.  She had stayed for him.  She was so much stronger and braver than he was, and he realized she had been right.  They could do this together--they should.  Knowing Felicity was on his side gave him a confidence he didn't know he needed. 

He was going to finish this tonight.  Even if it meant killing Malcolm, even if it meant he lost Felicity.  He could not let Malcolm's threat come true. 

“That's not going to happen,” Oliver said, hearing the faint peal of sirens in the distance.  It seemed Lance may have convinced his fellow officers to investigate tonight's shoot-out.  The police could take Malcolm into custody.  And him, too.  He would accept whatever punishment was given to him, if it meant Malcolm was behind bars.  

“Hear that?” Oliver asked as the sirens grew louder.  “They're coming for you.”

Malcolm watched for a moment, then grinned.  “No, they're not.”

In a blink of an eye, Malcolm was raising his gun and pointing it.  Oliver didn't have time to see who he was aiming for--himself, Digg, Felicity--but it didn't matter.  He loosed an arrow which sunk into Malcolm's shoulder. 

At the same moment, Tommy fired, shooting a bullet into his father's back.  He stared at Malcolm, writhing and wiggling on the ground, and Oliver didn't recognize the look on Tommy's face.  It scared him into a frozen and unmoving state. 

“Boss, we gotta go,” Digg said, managing to get close enough to rest a hand on Oliver's shoulder. 

Felicity grasped his hand and tugged on it.  “Oliver,” she whispered, tears running down her cheeks.  

“Tommy,” Oliver said, taking a step back in the direction Felicity was pulling him.  “Tommy, we have to go.”

The sirens were getting louder.  Tommy had to yell over them.  “No,  _ you _ have to go.  Get out of here, all of you!”

“Arthur--I mean Tommy, you can come with us!” Felicity cried out, but Tommy shook his head. 

“Somebody's going to have to clean this up and make sure no one worse than my father takes over,” Tommy said, bitterness infusing his words and his face.  “Now go--go!”

Shaking his head, Oliver stepped forward.  “No, I can't leave you behind.”

“You have to, Oliver.  We both have jobs to do, and you have people that are depending on you,” Tommy insisted, his stubbornness making Oliver feel like screaming from frustration. 

“Tommy!” Oliver shouted, but Tommy turned, running towards the interior door and vanishing from sight. 

Digg put pressure on Oliver's shoulder, joining Felicity in dragging Oliver away.  After a few stumbling steps, Oliver managed to pull himself together enough to take the lead. 

For now, Tommy was gone.  He still had Digg and Felicity to protect. 

“Here, Digg,” he said, pulling his friend’s arm over his shoulders.  He looked at Felicity and grabbed her hand.  “We've got a car a half block away.  Can you run with no shoes on?”

Felicity squeezed his hand  “Yes.  Let's go!”

As fast as they could, they got through the doors and into the alley.  Just as they reached the street, a police car pulled up.  Oliver felt his heart start to pound, but then Detective Lance stepped out.  He looked directly at them, then turned his back to them and start gesturing and yelling at some officers down the street, telling them to go the other way. 

The three of them hurried up the street, finding the car and piling inside.  Since Digg was in no condition to drive, Oliver got him into the back seat and then slid behind the wheel.  

“Hang on back there!” he called before putting the car in gear and mashing on the gas. 

Oliver drove towards Verdant, his mind whirling from everything that had happened tonight.  Then he felt a small hand put some pressure on his shoulder.  He glanced to his right as Felicity climbed over the seat and sat beside him.  He looked at her in surprise as she wrapped both her hands around his arm. 

“We have a lot to talk about,” Felicity said, her voice soft and quiet, the exhaustion evident. 

Nodding, he lifted his left hand to touch her hands.  “We do.  But for now . . . I'm sorry.  And I--I hope we can start over.”

Felicity leaned her head on his shoulder, her body warm and soft and wonderful against his side.  “I'm sorry, too.  And as far as starting over . . .”

The pause while she gathered her thoughts felt like an eternity.  He pulled to a stop at a fortuitous stop sign, letting him turn to look at her. 

She was pale and tired and dirty.  She was also the most beautiful person Oliver had ever seen. 

Biting her lip, she looked up at him.  “You did just rescue me from undeniable death.  And I'm in love with you--I have been since that first moment when I accidently insulted Verdant to you.  So . . . yes, I want to start over.”

For a long moment, he could only stare at her.  Then he pushed back his hood and swallowed.  “I love you, too.”

A small, happy smile appeared on her face.  One of her hands lifted from his arm to stroke his jaw.  “So how about you kiss me?”

He didn't have to be told twice.  Oliver leaned down and kissed her, feeling like everything made sense again.  Like now he really could do anything--and he would do it with Felicity by his side. 

They kept kissing until a honking horn reminded them where they were: blocking an intersection. 

With sheepish, happy smiles on both of their faces, they headed to Verdant.  Headed towards home and the start of spending their lives together. 

End, Chapter 10

 


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As I wrap up another fic, I’m once again left speechless by the support that this story has received. Historical fiction isn’t for everyone, so I truly appreciate everyone who gave this story a try and then told me how much they enjoyed it. Since I want to write my own historical fiction someday, this fanfic was a trial run for me--your reaction has told me this is something I can pull off! So everyone who took the time to give me feedback has my eternal thanks.
> 
> Also in the eternal thanks category is acheaptrickandacheesyoneline for her faultless beta skills, nvwhovian for wonderful cheerleading, and quiveringbunny for the amazing artwork for this story. Thank you so much!
> 
> Now, let’s see where Felicity, Oliver and Tommy are in the aftermath of Malcolm Merlyn’s treachery . . .

 

With a smile, Felicity moved through the people crowding Verdant.  Even though the club was dry now, the music kept the crowds coming in, eager to listen to the house band and hear guest orchestras.  Tonight, the Paul Whitman Orchestra was playing, with a talented young crooner named Bing Crosby helping to pack them in.  When Crosby sang  _ Side by Side _ , the dance floor was so full you could barely move.  

She couldn't think of a better way to finish her last night of work. 

It had been six weeks since the night that had brought her back to the place where she belonged: Verdant.  And to the man she belonged. 

They had taken things slowly at first.  Felicity had asked for her waitress job back, wanting to have the independence of an income while she and Oliver began building a new relationship.  Caitlin had argued the independence was illusory since Oliver was the one who paid her salary, but Felicity knew that wasn't the case.  

Not after their long talks, where they had shared so much of their history and feelings.  Which allowed them to see how they had both done wrong in their first relationship.  Now that they were aware of their flaws, they could work on them and make this second chance into something that lasted. 

The amount of love between them made anything else unthinkable. 

“Felicity!  What are you doing in that?”

Smiling wider, Felicity turned to kiss the cheek of Mrs. Ronnie Raymond.  “Hi, Cait.  I was just going to clock out and change.”

“Not that you don't look swell, Felicity,” Ronnie said as he winked at her.  “But getting mistaken for a waitress would cut into the fun.”

“Especially when we're on the dance floor,” Barry added, wrapping an arm around her shoulders. 

“I know,” Felicity replied, smiling at her friends.  Lately she couldn't seem to stop smiling.  “I'm going now.  Carly has the best table for us.  Thea should be here any minute, and Oliver and I will be right down.”

At her last statement, Ronnie smirked, Barry snorted, and even Caitlin looked openly skeptical.  Even though she knew she had nothing to be embarrassed about--because who wouldn't take advantage of a few private moments with their one true love?--Felicity did squirm a little.  There had been too many times lately when Felicity and Oliver had been late to parties and double dates because they had gotten lost in each other. 

“I swear, we'll be right down.  But if you don't believe me, order your drinks and if we're not down by the time you've finished them, they're on us.”

“Aren't they already on you, since Oliver owns this place?” Barry teased. 

“That is not true at all, Barry, and you’re keeping me from changing so we can get this evening started,” Felicity said with a laugh.  “Carly will show you to our table.”

Her friends laughed and stepped over to the hostess stand while Felicity turned and dashed for the stairs to Oliver's office.  Normally she would change in the staff room, but Oliver had a private bathroom where she could freshen up. 

And it would give them a few minutes alone. 

The happiness she felt with Oliver was just so immense, she wouldn't trust it if not for the solid foundation they had built together in the last two months.  Not that they hadn't established a base when they were first getting to know each other, but their fight and separation had taught them a lot.  Before, they had been living in a fool's paradise.  And as blissful as it had been, Felicity much preferred the deeper, stronger relationship she had with Oliver now.  The one where she knew to let him have time to think and put his feelings into words, and he knew when to keep her from being rash and impulsive.

Which was why she wanted a few minutes with him to kiss his face off, teasing him by asking him to unzip her uniform and helping with the fastenings on the new dress she had bought for tonight.  It was the first dress she had bought in a while, since she was being more thrifty with her money. 

Knocking on his office door, Felicity called out, “Oliver, it's me!”

Digg opened the door, smiling at her.  “That's my cue to go do the boss’s job.”

Felicity laughed and gave Digg a quick kiss on his cheek.  “Thank you, Digg.”

He patted her shoulder and headed down into the club.  Felicity stepped into the office, bubbling over with excitement, but the happy feelings faded a little when she saw Oliver. 

Of course he smiled at her.  Of course he stood and helped close the distance between them before leaning down to kiss her.  However, his smile didn't reach his eyes and his kiss had a hint of desperation to it.  Like he was scared to death of losing her.  He must have been thinking about Tommy.

So Felicity went up on her toes to wrap her arms around him.  She returned his kiss with equal fervor, getting lost in the taste and feel of him.  Someday, he would know in his bones she wasn’t ever going to leave him again.  Until then, she was going to give him every reassurance.  

“Mmm, you sure know how to make a girl be disappointed about spending the night with her friends,” Felicity murmured softly against his lips.  

Oliver let out a huff of laughter and brushed his nose against hers.  “I should apologize, I know . . . but I’m not sorry at all.  At least I’ll be there with you?”

Pulling back to look at him, Felicity stroked his hair.  “I won’t be able to kiss you when you look sad, like you do right now.”  

His arms tightened around her.  “I’m sorry,” he said.  “I was wishing Tommy could be here tonight, and . . .”  

“I understand,” Felicity said, which was true.  She did understand.  Like Oliver, she wished his best friend could join them tonight as they announced their news.  

“But someday, he will be here,” she promised, cupping Oliver’s face in her hands.  “I believe that.  Because I believe in you.  Together, we’ll find a way to help Tommy get out.”  

XXX

As he listened to Felicity’s words, Oliver felt hope swell in his chest.  She had the ability to cut through his moments of gloominess, those times when he felt lost in the dark, and fill him with light.  He didn’t know how she did it, but he was so incredibly thankful and grateful she chose to be the sunshine in his life.  

“I couldn’t do it without you,” he told her, his voice choked.  “Anything, really.”  

“You could, but that’s the thing about being together--we don’t have to do things by ourselves if we don’t want to.”  Felicity pecked his lips and then turned around.  “Now, unzip me, please, so I can change and we can join our friends.  I ran into Caitlin and Ronnie and Barry on my way up here; I hope Thea gets here soon.  And that she likes Barry, since they’re the only two single people at the table.  But really, Barry could get along with anyone--oh!”  

There was nothing Oliver liked more than listening to Felicity talk.  Unless it was giving her a reason to stop talking.  After he had drawn the zipper of her dress down, taking in the unblemished skin of her back, Oliver just hadn’t been able to help himself.  Leaning forward, he had pressed a soft kiss against her back, right between her shoulder blades, prompting Felicity’s “Oh!” and causing her to shiver. 

For good measure, he brushed his nose against her back.  “You were saying, Felicity?” he asked, before gently tugging on her camisole, drawing it down so he could kiss a bit lower on her back.

“Hmmm?” she asked dreamily.  Then, before he could turn her around and kiss her properly, Felicity stepped out of his arms and faced him.  “Oh, no, we’re not getting distracted tonight.  I already bet Barry we would be downstairs in the time it takes them to have their first drink.”  

“Why did you do that?” Oliver asked, feeling his eyebrows draw together in mock annoyance.  

“Because I’m excited about our news and I can’t wait to tell everyone,” Felicity said, her smile wide and beaming.  She quickly kissed his cheek, then held her dress up against her chest as she hurried into the bathroom.  

Oliver couldn’t help smiling.  He was excited, too.  Since the day he had met Felicity, he knew how much she had wanted to return to MIT, to finish her education and get her degree.  He couldn’t deny that deep down, he had wondered after their breakup if she would go back to Boston.  Once they had started over, that fear had lingered . . . until Felicity had idly mentioned she wasn’t sure if she even wanted to return to MIT.  

“I loved Boston and it felt like home . . . but then I came back to Starling City, and now I can’t imagine leaving.  Not with you here, and my friends, and my mother,” she had told him one evening as they walked towards their favorite Chinese restaurant.  “I guess I’ll just remain Felicity Smoak, with no BA to her name.”  

Felicity had gotten a few steps ahead of him, only stopping because their joined hands wouldn’t let her keep going, not with him standing in the middle of the sidewalk.  “Hey,” she said with a laugh, “what’s the hold-up?”

He had looked at her, unable to hold back a smile at the solution he had come up with.  “Why don’t you finish your degree at the University of Washington?”

“What?”  Felicity’s eyes had been wide.  

“Go to UW and get your degree there,” Oliver said, pulling her in close to him.

“But . . . it’s in Seattle,” she replied, gazing up at him.  “And--and I doubt I have enough saved for tuition.”  

Shrugging his shoulders, Oliver had smiled at her.  “Seattle’s only a train ride away.  You can come back here whenever you wanted.  And as for money, I think I can help.”  

“Oliver . . .” Felicity said slowly, biting her lower lip.  “I don’t really want to take money from you.  I realize I work for you and you pay me, but--but that’s different from you just giving me cash.”  

Letting go of her hand, Oliver wrapped his arms around her.  “Well, here’s the thing--I’d like to hire you.  To work at a club I want to open in Seattle.”  

Felicity had stared at him.  “Really?”

“Really,” he said, holding her close.  “Verdant’s doing so well, I want to open another club in Seattle.  And since I don’t want to move there, not full-time, who better than someone I absolutely trust to help me run it?”  

“But you’d have to come to Seattle to check up on it!” Felicity had said before kissing him.  “Oh, this is the best early Christmas present ever!”  

Thinking back on that conversation made Oliver smile.  Felicity had no idea about her real Christmas present: the one he would be giving her tonight.

Oliver walked over to his safe and opened it, moving aside the stacks of cash to reveal a small box.  He picked it up and opened it, as he did pretty much every day, just to confirm the box still held the sparkling emerald ring.  It was a Dearden family heirloom, one that he had inherited when he turned eighteen, and it was less tainted in his mind than the Queen family jewels.  Plus, it was important Felicity knew just how much he saw her as a partner.  

Although he had hoped to hang up his hood after what happened with Malcolm, unfortunately Starling City still had plenty of crime and misfortune.  The police were making strides, but they needed help--the city needed help.  Thanks to Felicity analyzing the information he continued to receive from Detective Lance, he was making even more of an impact now.  

When he asked her to marry him, he wanted her to see the green emerald, and think about his hood, and realize she would be his partner in everything.  Just like she had wanted.  A partner behind the scenes, as he had wanted.  

Closing the box, Oliver tucked it into his pocket and closed the safe, just as Felicity stepped out of the bathroom.  “What do you think?” she asked, doing a little twirl for him.  

He didn't have much of an eye for fashion, but Oliver thought it was  the prettiest dress he'd ever seen.  The black silk flowed over Felicity’s figure and the green sequined designs caught the light.  She looked like she was ready to dance and have the best night of her life. 

“You look beautiful,” Oliver told her.  He picked up the jacket for his suit and slid it on, smiling at her.  “I hope I look good enough to escort you.”

Felicity laughed and walked over to him.  “Oh, you'll do,” she replied, smoothing her fingers over his lapels. She met his eyes and smiled.  “Ready?”

Oliver nodded.  “Ready,” he said, and not just meaning he was ready for tonight. 

He was ready for his whole future with Felicity.  One with happiness and love and hope, a future that would include not only making a family with her, but also making a difference with her. 

Starting with saving Tommy. 

Before any of that could happen, though, he had to ask her to marry him. 

XXX

When his father had died on the table, during the operation to remove the bullet in his back, Tommy Merlyn should could have gotten out.  He hadn’t, though, because then he wouldn’t be able to protect his best friend. 

It was going on four months now since the night he had revealed himself to Oliver, since the night he had helped the Hood break up a meeting that was supposed to cause a war, since the night he had seen Oliver save the woman he loved. 

Each day following that night had felt endless, and the nights were twice as long. The last thing he had wanted was to be in this position: the head of Starling City’s Italian mob.  If he was going to keep the city safe, if he was going to get the mob out, he had to step into the place for which his father had groomed him. 

The accident that had scarred him had been all Malcolm's idea.  A way to give his son no other option but to work for Malcolm.  Although Tommy had resisted as much as he could, eventually he had been forced to learn his role.  He had discovered he could do this.  Tommy had reserves of cunning and guile he had never guessed he possessed.  Gifts and talents his father wasn't aware of, either.  He only wanted Tommy to be involved to strengthen his own position. 

Now that Tommy was in charge, he was undermining the mob from the inside.  It was slow work, but he wouldn’t leave until the job was done. 

Or until he didn't hear Laurel’s screams. 

He knew he shouldn't dwell on everything he had lost.  At least Oliver wasn't on that list.  Tommy knew Oliver had meant it when he had vowed to get Tommy out of the mob. 

Hopefully, Oliver wouldn't have to.  Not when he had other people to protect. 

With a small smile, Tommy picked up the  _ Starling Examiner _ and looked at the article that had prompted his moment of reflection.  The accompanying photograph had been equally thought-provoking. 

The image was a candid of Felicity pressed up against Oliver's side and his arm wrapped around her.  It looked like Oliver was torn between protecting Felicity from the photographer and wanting to show off. 

Which was understandable for a man who had just gotten married. 

_ OLIVER FINDS HIS QUEEN! _ screamed the headline.  In breathless prose, the reporter detailed how the new Mr. and Mrs. Queen had just returned to Starling City after their surprise wedding in Seattle. 

_ When asked why they had chosen to elope, Mr. Queen said, “When it's right, why wait?  I couldn't face the six months of wedding planning; neither of us wanted that.  Now we can settle down to a nice, quiet married life.”  At this, Mr. Queen threw a roguish smile to his wife.  Mrs. Queen, the former Felicity Smoak, and possessing a quiet yet sunny charm of her own, blushed but returned Mr. Queen’s smile.  _

Tommy doubted the reporter had actually gotten that quote from Oliver or seen them together, but really, the article didn't matter that much.  It was the photo that did, with his oldest and newest friends looking so happy together.  Just like he had hoped, the first time he had walked into Verdant and seen Felicity. 

Back then, he had hoped Oliver would get to know Felicity, because he had thought the smart, pretty, kind blonde would be perfect for Oliver.  It had all worked out better than Tommy had ever expected. 

Setting down the newspaper, Tommy turned back to his desk.  He knew Oliver wanted to rescue him.But just like he couldn't let his friend take that risk four months ago, Tommy wasn't going to wait for Oliver to storm in as the Hood and free him. 

To Tommy, knocking out the mob and gaining his freedom seemed like a wonderful wedding gift for Oliver and Felicity.  Not simply because of the selfish reasons, but because it would let Oliver start his married life with freedom, too.  Freedom from his past, freedom from his old mistakes, freedom from a promise he had made.  Freedom to have the life he wanted with Felicity. 

Once the mob was gone, Oliver could work in the light of day for Starling City.  Tommy wanted to be there for that. 

Although not as much as he wanted to be Uncle Tommy. 

It was time to get to work.  

End. 


End file.
